In Bloom
by queenofgrey
Summary: All of the choices he made allowed him to find her, then forbid him from having her. Broken hearts, unforgivable sins, betrayed lovers. "I am not yours. You are not mine." - AH, rated M for mature themes.
1. Prologue: A Glimpse

**Prologue: A Glimpse****

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Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. I do not. I simply like to toy with the wonderful gifts she's given us. No copyright infringement is intended.  
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Give "In Bloom" by Tristan Prettyman a listen prior to reading this little tale, if you feel so inclined.  
It's where the title comes from & it has an awful lot to do with the plot.  
**www[dot]last[dot]fm/music/Tristan+Prettyman/_/In+Bloom  


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****EDWARD**

"What is it about you, Bella?" My hands found the supple, pallid skin of her lower back and laced together there, quaking with the electric current that traversed our skin. Her eyes closed slowly, tears dripping upon her lashes, glimmering in the flickering candlelight, and I kissed the lids, a whispered touch of agony, knowing that my mouth was forbidden from meeting hers. Tender, her delicate hand found the rough plane of my cheek and I pressed into it, turned my mouth against her palm, kissing to try to sway her to open her eyes. More tears fell, dripped down her cheeks and onto the pillow between us, and my chest tightened, smoldered, the knowledge of what I was putting her though too weighty for my mortal heart. "I want you."

"You don't know what you want."

She was correct, I knew she was, but, here and now, in this bed, in this instant, with my hands about her waist and her tears fracturing my heart, I wanted my words to be true, more than anything. So, I said them yet again, my eyes stinging with tears to mirror hers, as the words cracked in my throat, spilled from my lips in a bare whisper, "I want _you_," and I pressed my mouth to hers, knowing that the inferno of Hell would certainly consume me for doing so.

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Chapter One will be posted later tonight.


	2. Chapter 1: A Fire on a Cold Night

**Chapter One: A Fire on a Cold Night****

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**_Yeah, he's electric,  
& I can't forget it  
_"Electric" - Tristan Prettyman**  


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BELLA**

I am uncertain as to how to make a proper cup of coffee, which is quite bothersome considering the fact that I run a coffee shop of sorts. The café is petite and looks as though it belongs in a different place and time, with its dreamy, sheer curtains, high-backed chairs, and mismatched china, rather than present day, small town Forks, Washington. It has a healthy crowd of standard customers who flutter in and out in the early morning hours, return around noon for refills and the occasional bistro sandwich, and there's always a good bunch of them that close out the store at night, their fingers clasped around porcelain cups, jittery with caffeine. I spend most of my time in the kitchen — filling muffin tins with banana-walnut batter, rolling out sugar cookie dough and slicing cutters through it, placing healthy dollops of buttercream icing on top of still-warm cupcakes, sneaking an occasional cigarette in the doorway of the emergency exit — but, on the odd weekend, I'm left to staff the front of the shop solo during the morning rush, as money is tight. I fill orders as rapidly as I can, only getting about one third of them correct, and I nearly burst into tears each time a cup of coffee is thrust in front of me with the words, "This is wrong," being spat from the mouth of a fuming customer. Generally, I end up making a mess of the place and today is no exception. There is coffee coating the floor behind the counter, squishing into the rubber mat beneath my sneakers, dying my once-white socks a muddy shade, and the line looms, looking like a living, breathing dragon of impatience. I am certain that by the time the relief of an employee waltzing through the front door finally comes, I will be filled with complete and utter dissatisfaction, disdain, aching to dart out of the door and never look back. However, this is where I work and it works for me, aside from the disappointing odd weekend, and I will always return, no matter how much coffee fills my shoes.

"Busy this mornin', huh?" Charlie asked with a knowing laugh and slipped behind the counter to fill his thermos. I glared at him, unable to find the humor in his observation, as I fumbled a dozen cookies into a box and tried to make change for a fifty dollar bill. He offered a finger as I looped ribbon into a bow around the box, around his thumb, nearly grabbing the staple gun from beside the register and attacking. "Want me to give you a hand for a little while? I don't have to be to the station 'til noon today."

"Daddy, my love, my dear Papa, whom I adore, have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Yeah, yeah. That's enough with the condescension." I kissed his cheek, as he grabbed a fresh cup of decaf for Mrs. Palmer, and headed for the kitchen, a spring in my squishy step, as he shouted, "You can pay me in apple pie."

In the quiet of the kitchen, I whipped together a batch of apple crumb cake cookies and, while they combined in the standing mixer, I headed for the emergency exit door, my fingers swiping a cigarette and lighter from where I kept them beside the industrial sink. The wind stung my cheeks, whipped my hair, and slammed the door shut behind me with a resounding boom. Tugging my sweater over my mouth and nose, I shielded myself from the elements and lit my cigarette beneath the wool. One drag wasn't enough, so I took a few more, and my hands stopped shaking, the anxiety leaving my body as the puffs of smoke escaped my mouth and mingled with the crisp winter air. Leaning back against the building, I savored the rest of my mini-break, before going back inside, washing my hands, and turning on the convection oven.

The rest of the morning passed without incident and, by the time Charlie left, a box of freshly baked miniature apple pies in hand, Alice had arrived to assist with the lunch rush. I piled sandwiches high with meat and cheese and cut slices and slivers of cake, while she brewed organic tea and slung plates with grace, and I no longer found cause to hate my line of work as we counted out our tips on the front stoop, a communal cup of iced coffee between us on the frosty ground, a cigarette dangling from my chapped lips.

"You should really quit, you know." Alice had been a proponent for me to become a non-smoker for as long as I'd known her and, once Charlie had found out, as he crashed my twenty-first birthday, he had joined her side in the fight against tobacco. She faked a heaving cough and waved a hand at me, at the smoke, and I rolled my eyes at her, not needing her lecture after the morning I'd had. While I appreciated their concern, I worked a high-stress job, or at least it was to me, and I found solace in the little sticks of nicotine and the calming effect they had on me as I watched the smoke waft from the ends in a drifting dance. I stubbed out my cigarette and gave her a look, to which she replied, "I'm just sayin'."

I reached for the iced coffee and let my eyes wander over the empty parking lot, across the street to the strip of shops and offices that sat there, as my mouth found the straw and took a long sip, savoring the vanilla-caramel treat that would not have been possible, if it weren't for Alice. She took the cup from my hand with a smile, which I returned, and swallowed down a mouthful, her eyes joining mine to watch the lackluster scene of cars passing on the icy road, as we waited for the next rush of patrons and I smoked too many cigarettes.

Night fell and the after dinner crowd poured in, our final rush of the day, comprised mostly of bundles of ladies who left their husbands at home to wash up their kids while they gossiped over Irish coffee and slices of opera cake, their lipstick leaving marks all over my china. Alice buzzed along with them, sometimes sitting down with a few of them when orders were slow, and I watched from behind the register as business boomed and a feeling of worth settled into my chest, a complete one-eighty from the morning madness. I couldn't even feel irritated about having to scrub their cups free of magenta and deep red stains, as I counted the cash in the till and began cleaning up for the night, the volume of people lessening as the minutes ticked nearer to closing time.

After her last table left, picking up a ten dollar bill tucked under a saucer, Alice gave me a hug with promises of arriving early the next day, even if the schedule did not call for her until noon. I thanked her, called her my savior, and locked the front door behind her with a wave as I closed the sheer curtains that hung there.

A knock sounded on the glass of the front door as I headed back to the register and I rolled my eyes, amused by Alice's flighty nature, and shuffled back to the door. However, I was met with a very different silhouette in the glow of the curtain. Gone was Alice's lithe frame, replaced with a broader one, the shadow of unkempt hair and a briefcase adorning it. Feeling lighthearted and pleased with the close of the business day, I unlatched the lock and opened the door, eager to offer this barely late customer a slice of whatever his heart desired.

Our eyes met immediately and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, a hum of electricity coursing across my skin, making it pucker from more than the night chill, as I watched the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile, his free hand coming to rest on the frame of the door. Leaning forward into the frame, I let the door swung open, granting this man, this stranger, access to my world, my livelihood, on nothing but instinct and electricity alone. He let out a breathy, "Hi," and I felt the humidity of his word wash over my face, a sign that we were far too near to each other, that I'd leaned too far, and I stepped back, my cheeks coloring a soft pink.

"We're kind of closed, but not, like, officially, since the sign is still lit, so, um..." I rattled out the words, not really certain that I wanted him to stay, but sure that this feeling on my skin, in my stomach, wouldn't like it if he left. Clearing my throat, my cheeks burning a brighter shade of red, I tried again. "Would you like to come in?"

He stepped into the café and we were back to the lack of distance that we had been privy to a mere moment before. I let my eyes wander across his face, to his strong jaw, the stubble coating it, down his neck, to thin, firm arms tucked beneath a button-up shirt, and down to the buckle of his belt, where my eyes halted, knowing that if I did not stop devouring this man with my eyes, I'd surely seem a pervert. My cheeks scorched and his index finger swiped across one of them suddenly, a devilishly handsome smirk on his lips as his briefcase hit the floor. Part of me felt instant fear, having this strange man alone in my café who, obviously, had no regard for proper distance and customary introductions, but another part of me, a much bigger and louder part, felt intoxicated, drunken by his presence and I ached for more, another swipe of his finger, more hot words falling out of his mouth. He gave me none, though, and simply stepped around me, taking the seat nearest the pastry case. Breaking from my daze, I rounded the register and splayed my hands atop the cool case, my chin coming to rest upon them, as he perused the contents below me.

"What would you recommend?"

"Not the coffee," I quipped. "Everything else is pretty good, though."

"But, this is a coffee shop," he countered with a smirk. I shrugged and pulled a chocolate peanut butter cupcake from the case, set it on a plate, and brought it to him, breaking my normal code of conduct by taking the seat across from him. "That looks good."

"As do you," I sighed under my breath, but I was certain that, from the upturned corners of his mouth, he had heard me. Chastising myself internally over my lack of a filter, my skin pinked again, confirming whatever suspicions he had about my words. Whether it was a divine gesture or this man simply being polite, I would never know, but instead of embarrassing me with a retort, he sunk his teeth into the cupcake, bypassing the fork that sat on the table beside his hand. He groaned around the dessert and I had to look away, busy my hands with twirling a spoon, or else I would have jumped this nameless, beautiful man who moaned at the taste of my sweets. "So, are you new around here? Pretty much everyone in town has been through here at least once, and I'm fairly sure I'd remember seeing you in here."

"I am." He took another bite and swiped away the crumbs at the corners of his mouth with his thumb. Dirty, insane thoughts of wanting to lick them from his skin rolled through my head and I crossed my legs tightly, focused on the words that were now coming from his mouth. "My wife is from around here, wanted to move back near her folks. She says it's a great place for a kid to grow up."

"Oh." I tried my best not to look or sound disheartened, but I wasn't a great actress. The spoon stopped twirling in my fingers, clattered to the table, and I finally saw the slick gold band that adorned his left ring finger. I stood, unjustly let down, and mumbled some excuse about having to do the dishes, that it was closing time. I knew that I was being inhospitable, but I couldn't help it. "Yeah, if you want to come by some other time, that's fine, but I really need to start closing things down for the night."

"Oh, okay," he replied and his voice sounded akin to mine at the mention of his wife. I didn't look up, couldn't meet his eye, as he fumbled his belongings together and his shiny shoes scuffed against the tile floor. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house." I was certain he would try to protest and I cut him off as I heard him take in a sharp pull of air. "Just go."

The door clattered shut behind him, loud and final, and I sunk down in front of the register, feeling fried from the electricity that still hummed along my skin.

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Obviously, I'm completely out of my mind for posting yet another story when I can't even update _Betwixt_ on a regular basis because I'm so busy writing _Carpe Noctem & Fiat Lux_, but this just has to get out of my head. Updates will be slow going until _CN&FL_ is finished, because I refuse to back-burner that for this, for fear that I will be injured.

This is much lighter than _CN&FL_, as there's no all-consuming blood lust to be had, but it will be lusty & angsty in its own right. Trust me. I wouldn't dare let you down.

To those of you who have already reviewed & alerted on my prologue alone, I thank you for having faith in me & taking a chance on this. I adore you. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 2: Interrupted Constants

**Chapter Two: Interrupted Constants**

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So surprising, love struck lightening,  
Shot me right in the pit of my soul  
_"A Spark" – Gareth Asher_  
_

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**EDWARD**

My life is one of certainty. It hasn't always been that way, but it is now, and I find a sense of comfort in knowing how things will be. I have a newly purchased, modest two-story home with a mortgage that I fully intend to pay on time, a wife who always offers me warm smiles and ready lips, a daughter who thinks I am a king among men, and a steady course of direction that I adhere to, one that guarantees a life of fulfillment. Each day starts like the last, whereas I make breakfast in my robe while Angela wrangles our daughter, gets her ready for school, and I smile as I watch her frantically push tiny feet into tiny shoes. It's chaos, but it's comfortable and it's what we do. I wear starched, pressed button-up shirts to my recently obtained, salary paying job, where I tend to ill children, dress their wounds, and set their broken bones. At sundown, I sit around a wooden table with my girls and eat a meal that Angela, undoubtedly, slaved over for hours, and then I listen to her hum as she washes the dishes and I dry them, put them in their rightful places while Lily watches cartoons. We read to Lily at bedtime, Angela voicing the dialogue, allowing me to narrate, until her little eyelids drift closed and we kiss her forehead before turning off the light. In our bedroom, we have a routine. Angela takes to the bathroom first, while I read a few pages of whatever novel is on the bedside table before she kisses me with minty breath and informs me that it's my turn. Sometimes we make love and sometimes we don't, but each night, she sets her glasses on the bedside table, presses her cheek against my chest, and rubs circles across my skin until I fall asleep. I don't deviate, don't look for more or less, as I am happy, satisfied. Rather, I didn't deviate, not until tonight. The light was still on at the café across the street and, all week, I'd watched people come and go with their Styrofoam cups and purple boxes filled with sweets. It was tempting, different, and all I wanted was pie, maybe an Americano. I did not bargain for this.

After calling Angela and telling her that I would be late, that I had paperwork that needed filing, I locked up the office, tried to shirk the level tone of disappointment I'd heard come from my wife's words, and crossed the street with long, eager steps, nearly bumping into a smiley girl as she fumbled keys out of her oversized purse. I offered her a smile, simple and polite, and tugged the handle of the door, saddened that it would not give under the weight of my pull. Chancing a knock, my stomach grumbled at the delightful smell that wafted out of the door when a small, wide-eyed, brunette pressed it open and outward. One look into those eyes, those boundless brown eyes of wonder and sweetness, and I knew that my deviation was devilish, as I found myself leaning nearer and nearer to her, wanting to lose myself in unknown chocolate depths. Then, she invited me in, looked me over, and I found my fingertips aching to feel the fire that scorched her cheeks, so, I did, and I didn't feel dirty, only warm, light, and, admittedly, dangerous. My feet knew better than my hands, though, and they moved me around her, before my palms found her cheeks and tried to cool the burn that adorned them. She gave me cake, when I wanted pie, and quietly vocalized attraction, made me feel like a new man, a different man, one who would want cake. I was intrigued, enlightened, electric, alive. Then, at the mention of my life, my constant life of security and normalcy, the life that she had no part in, the mood changed and I found myself regretting the truth, aching to take it back as she asked me to leave.

Sullen steps and heavy feet brought me to the rightful side of the street, the one that I had business on, should've stayed on, and I walked quickly to my car, nearly punching the hood of it before I unlocked the doors and climbed inside. I had no right, no reason to be mad, irrationally disappointed, but, there, in the quiet confines of my car, my hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly and my brow furrowed, rigid dissatisfaction clear on my face in the rearview mirror. I started the car with a huff, carelessly threw the gearshift into drive, and pressed viciously on the gas pedal, eliciting a loud purr from the engine as the metal and rubber carried me into the night, took me home, set me back on my path of commonality.

"Hey, honey," Angela said with her genuine, gentle smile the moment I shut the door behind me. Lily ran at me, attacked my legs with her torso as her arms wrapped around me, and, for the first time in five years of wedded bliss, I faked a smile as I kissed my wife. "Dinner's in the refrigerator, but I can warm it up for you, after I give Lil her bath. It's vegetable lasagna. I hope that's alright."

"That's perfect, but I'll get it. You don't have to dote on me, Angie." My mouth felt soiled, unkempt, as I heard myself cheerfully voice her nickname. I grinned around the words, but everything felt like a lie as I absently tried to replace her light brown eyes with the dark chocolate ones inside of my mind. "Go on and tend to Lil."

"You sure?"

"Positive." The smile on my face felt near painful and I was pleased when she nodded and turned her back to me, ushering Lily up the staircase. "I'll be up as soon as I'm done with dinner to help turn the pages."

"You do more than turn pages, Daddy."

"Right."

In the kitchen, over a lukewarm plate of layered pasta and Portobello mushrooms, I closed my eyes and, immediately, she was there. I could smell the coffee that she would not give me, bitter and burning in my throat, with the faintest taste of chocolate on my tongue, and everything was a wash of brown, thick and beautiful, and I felt like I was swimming in her eyes. Those damn eyes, so haunting and perfect and simply able to undo everything I'd worked and planned for, wanted for so long. She was sweet temptation in the purest sense and, in that moment, I resolved that I would push the boundaries, I would change my routine. I had to. I, simply, had to include her in this life of mine, even if it was just in the capacity of so-called bad coffee and slices of cake.

"Babe? You coming up?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there."

Quickly, I ate a few bites of lasagna, before discarding it into the sink, disappointed to be ridding my mouth of the dense, delicious taste of chocolate and peanut butter, and scaled the steps two at a time, trying to right my mind, focus on the moment at hand. Of all things, it was Lily's smile that brought me back, made my stomach lurch and pit with guilt, and I crawled into her small bed with a frown on my face. She poked the corners of my mouth, as Angela looked on and smiled, and I nearly trembled while trying to keep it together. My mouth automatically started moving then, as Lily opened and turned the pages of _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie_, and I recited the lines in an empty monotone until her tiny body grew limp between me and my lawfully wedded wife, the book slipping from her little fingers as sleep overcame her.

"What's going on with you?" Angela whispered as we exited, flipping off the light.

In the dimly lit hallway, Angela put the back of her hand to my forehead, testing for a fever that wasn't there, and pulled me to her, her long, thin arms feeling foreign around my waist. I leaned against her, into her, still, because that was the right thing to do, to want to feel the body of my wife pressed against mine. Her lips found the hollow of my neck and I felt sick under her soft kiss, masking it as best I could by squeezing her briefly, then mumbling something about taking a shower.

"That's odd. You never shower at night."

"I'm just not feeling very well."

"It couldn't possibly be from dinner. I got the vegetables from the farmer's market, so surely they were fresh." Worry spread across Angela's face as she ghosted a hand over my arm, laced our fingers together, and began to lightly tug me toward our bedroom. "It's probably something you picked up at work. New town, new kids, new germs. Maybe that's what did you in? Come, I'll draw you a bath."

"No, I can do it. I'd prefer a shower, anyway. You go on and get ready for bed." I settled into the chaise by the window and picked up the book that I knew I would not be able to concentrate on, gave Angela a mostly sincere smile, praying that she'd be asleep before the water turned cold against my skin. "I can wait."

Freshly scrubbed and dressed in an old t-shirt of mine, Angela curled under the sheets and shot me a look of sympathy as I padded towards the bathroom, my limbs feeling heavy and wrong, weighted with equal parts of guilt and lust. I closed the door behind me, another break from my routine of wedded bliss, and turned on the water, setting the temperature to a near-scalding degree, aching to chastise my skin for wanting another woman's touch so badly. I undressed and stepped under the spray, wincing at the feel of it, before discovering that the punishing temperature was quite blissful, burned me like she did, and I stood still for a while, simply taking it in, visions of cocoa-colored eyes, chestnut hair, and cherry lips floating through the steam around me.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I sighed lowly, one hand fisting in my hair and the other pressing meanly into the slick, tiled wall. "Damn it."

I gave in, then, feeling helpless, hopeless, haunted, and turned to lean my head against the tiles, the water flowing hotly over my abdomen, down my legs, and I wrapped a hand around my tortured, traitorous erection. Slow at first, like my visions of her, I pumped my hand, base to tip at an agonizing speed. I bit my lip to stifle the groans, bit it so hard that I feared I'd draw blood, and picked up the pace as I remembered the feel of her hot skin beneath my fingertip, imagined more of it under my palm, all of her beneath me entirely. That was all it took, a vision of naked, foreign flesh and dark, heavy-hooded eyes, and I fell apart, my eyes clenching and my teeth digging into my lip. Recovering slowly, feeling alive and wrong, right, nothing, I watched the evidence of my betraying lust wash down the drain and I coated my body in soap, scrubbed until the water ran cold, and Angela's knuckles rapped on the door.

"Honey? You okay? You've been in there for a while."

"I'm fine."

Angela's fingers etched lines across my chest, like they always had, but I stayed awake long after her hand fell limp and her breathing evened out, tormented by a stranger with brown eyes and the ability to throw my entire world off its axis with nothing more than cake and a smile. Certainly, my lack of sleep would call for coffee in the morning and I, simply, could not wait.

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I listened to Andy Davis' "Brown Eyes" through this, even though the lyric at the top is from another song. It just seemed to fit.

What color are your eyes?


	4. Chapter 3: Manifestations

**Chapter Three: Manifestations**

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__If you dream something over more than three times in a row  
If you want something don't you, you want something, don't you let go  
_"Wherever the Dandelion Falls" – Aslyn

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**BELLA**

My body wrenched itself awake somewhere in the middle of the night, every part of my flesh covered in a film of sweat; visions of that man, that foreigner with the roaming fingertips, branded into my sightline. I don't dream, ever. Perhaps, that's inaccurate, for I'm certain that everyonedreams, though, it seems that I have lacked the ability to remember my dreams for quite some time. The last dream I awoke with any inclination of occurred when I was eleven and it had something to do with a lunchbox and a dinosaur, something completely nonsensical and unimportant, and I, surely, would not have remembered it if I had another to replace it with after. Now, fourteen years later, he brought my long-dead internal cinema back to life, a continuous loop of his features flickering on the screen of my memory, the vague bits of them I could recall, and with those sights, his words came, too, loud and discouraging. Fisting my blanket and tugging it up to my chin, I groaned as I realized that I had absolutely no business dreaming of a married man.

It was relentless, though, the sight of him, and all through my morning routine, even during the drive over to the café, he was there, ceaseless in his unwavering torment. I trudged from my truck toward Alice's seated form and nudged her over on the steps, letting gravity pull me down onto the ground beside her, my legs too tense, nearly quaking with impure thoughts, to continue to stand.

"Not only am I early, but I brought you quiche." Alice smiled widely, her hands clutched around a little Tupperware container. She cracked the lid and the scent of it brought me back to reality, gloom gone, and I leaned over and pulled a piece off with my bare fingers, popped it into my mouth, and, for the first time all morning, moaned about something proper. "We should really think about adding this to the menu. It's pretty tasty, if I do say so myself."

"Heavenly." I grabbed her water bottle and downed a swig, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, wanting the lost droplets of water that had escaped from my lips to disappear before they turned to icicles. I shivered, tucking my hands into my coat pockets, and wondered why we were still bothering to fend against the weather. "It's fucking cold."

"You have the keys."

"Right."

With upbeat music that was popular circa 1985 blaring through the speakers of a tiny, worn stereo behind the cash register, we stocked the pastry case, our heads bobbing to the beat and our mouths oddly chattering the few lyrics we knew. Alice started the coffee pots and wiped down the counters, while I hummed along to a tune she didn't know and unloaded the dishwasher, stacked the plates and cups beside the case, lined up and pretty, awaiting the start of a brand new day. As I headed into the back, remnants of a pop song slipping off my tongue, I grinned and thanked the heavens that routine, Alice, and Billy Idol had been the key to forgetting emerald eyes and bronzed hair. However, as I started up the mixer and pulled flour from the shelf, he was back, a clear vision of him in my mind, and his words echoed through the silent air of the kitchen. Frowning, I shuffled over to the sink and doused my hands in icy water, patted my damp hands upon my face, and sighed, my elbows leaning against the edge of the sink.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I sighed in response, caught a bit off-guard, not wanting to face Alice and let my glum, frowning mouth give me away. "Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of. You got a minute?"

Composing myself, I ran a paper towel over my face and shook my hands at my sides. I turned and gave Alice a grin, but her eyebrows knitted together warily and I knew I'd been caught. Caught doing what, I wasn't certain, but the look on her face told me that she knew something was off.

"What's up?" I asked her, before she could ask me. "Did the register jam again, 'cause if you just lift the left-hand side of the drawer, it'll stop sticking, but if that doesn't work—"

"The register's fine," Alice laughed, cutting me off with her words and her pointer-finger raised in the air. "There's just a customer that needs some help."

"That's why I hired you, silly."

"He asked for you."

I blanched, automatically associating the male pronoun with green eyes and chocolate peanut butter cupcakes, and my feet halted a yard or so from Alice. She affixed one hand to my elbow and another to my back and tried to force my bent body straight again. I gulped air and blushed, felt incredibly foolish, but couldn't stop it from happening. My heart was racing, hard and loud, and there was nothing at all, nothing Alice could say or do, that would slow it down, as I knew, somehow, that _he_ was on the other side of the door, probably with thicker stubble and equally messy hair and a shiny gold band still gleaming on his finger.

"You're on fire," Alice laughed, her soft finger poking into the burning skin of my cheek. I shuddered and shrugged away from her, because that was his skin now and only his fingers were allowed to cool it. "Um, okay. What the fuck's going on?"

"The guy— Is he tall, odd-colored hair, briefcase, married?"

"He's pretty and shiny and new, yes."

"Damn it."

I gasped in a few breaths until my lungs were at capacity, then sent all of the air gushing from my mouth until I was heaving for more, my eyes closed all the while, then righted my stance and nodded my head, ignoring Alice on my way to the door. I pressed it open quickly and it thudded against the wall behind it loudly, announcing my presence and making it hard to craft a stealthy escape. I was in this now, diving in with both feet, and waiting for the tides to carry me off to sea, pull me deep into his sea green undertow.

He was there, his long fingers atop the pastry case, bracing his body as he leaned into it on the balls of his feet, and his mouth turned into a smile as I caught his eye. Wringing my hands in front of me, I took small steps over to him, feeling a tug, a pull, the nearer I got, mortified and intrigued by his magnetism. He nodded once, a gesture of acknowledgement, polite, and I returned it, my neck and head feeling heavy and barely able to move, to sustain themselves upon my shoulders. A cold sweat broke out across my arms and I halted on the other side of the case.

"Good morning, sir," I said automatically, treating him like any other customer, though my voice pitched in a different way when it was directed toward him, lower and sultry without even trying. "How can I help you?"

"I had quite a restless night and I was hoping that, maybe, the coffee was drinkable today." His smile morphed, shifted up on one side, and it seemed teasing. My stomach liked it a little too much and my cheeks burned in recognition of the feeling. My hand absently reached beside the case and bypassed the Styrofoam cups, grasped a cup and saucer, instead, an invitation for him to stay, and I set in on the case between us. "Ah, so it is, huh? That's a relief. I would go elsewhere, but this is just too convenient with my office right across the street."

"Across the street?" I sputtered the words at him, mildly shocked that they came out in a coherent string.

"New doctor in town, ma'am," he replied, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction, and my knees felt a little weak, a little more than weak. His hand reached out and covered mine on the cup, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand, and I pulled away, pulled my hand to my chest, burned and possessive, knowing that I should not want to be touched, even so menially. "Right. I'll, uh, I'll, actually, need that coffee to go, if you don't mind," he said, nodding, his finger tracing the rim of the cup. "We open in a few minutes. Don't want to be late."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that," I sighed, absent. _We_. I couldn't resist using the word and I smiled as it slipped off of my tongue. It sounded nice, level, perfect, and completely out of place. Noticing this, I frowned and turned to find the pot of coffee he'd come for. "Regular or decaf?"

"Did you miss the part about lacking a good night of sleep?" He laughed and fiddled with the cuffs of his dress shirt, following on his side of the counter and stopping in front of where I stood with my hands on the handles of the pots. My hands slipped down, feeling weighted, until they hung limply at my sides and I shoved them into my pockets to resist the urge to paw across the counter and toy with the buttons on his sleeves. "Regular." I filled the cup, sloshing more of it over the edges and onto my shoes than into the cup and he smirked all the while, his eyes fixed on my ever-reddening cheeks. I didn't need to look up to know it, either, as I felt it there, burning the already singed skin. I handed the cup to him blindly, unable to meet his searing stare, and shivered as the tips of his fingers brushed over mind. "Can I pay you for this one?"

"Just tell me your name." The words came of their own accord, quiet and quick, a pleading prayer that I could name this disease. I couldn't look at him, still, and I ran my fingers over the soft fabric at the hem of my shirt, pressed my thumbs into it and dragged it down my body until it covered half my thighs. Startled, I gasped as he reached across the counter and hooked a finger under my chin, forcing and pushing until I granted him a panicked and heated stare. "I'm sorry, that was—"

"Edward."

"Edward." I tried it out on my tongue, breathed it, and it was absolute perfection. Smiling at my victory, I bravely reached up and traced his long finger with my own smaller one, knuckle to nail, and grasped it when he didn't move, pulled it to point at me as I told him my own name, an awkward smile on my lips as I sounded out, "Bella."

"Fitting."

"Don't do that," I frowned, his finger forgotten and clattering with the rest of his hand to the counter between us. He stared at it as if it wasn't his own, then put his hand into the pocket of his slacks, away from where it could touch me and I could touch it. Nodding, he backed away from the counter and I frowned, forlorn. As his shoulders pressed into the front door and moved it open slowly, I wearily sighed, "Have a nice day."

Alice hugged me from behind once he was gone and my weight shifted backwards against her, my body feeling tired and strange, wrong. I didn't want to explain, but I was glad that someone was there to hold me up. She set me back against a prep table and tended to the customers all on her own, as I sat there in a daze, blurred and frayed at the edges, and did not resurface until the morning rush had all but faded away.

"So, do I get to know or do I just get to keep all of the tips in the till, since you were completely useless this morning?" She smirked, bumping me with her hip and knocking me out of the remnants of my fog. I stared at her, my lips pursed, showing that I would give nothing away, and she smiled, before handing me the pack of cigarettes that I stashed beneath the cash counter. I took one and lit it up in the café, careless and unconcerned with health codes and how I was violating them. After a few drags, I looked at her, my mouth curving into a smile and my eyes no longer feeling weary. She smiled back and sighed, "He really is pretty, you know."

"I know. He's also married."

"Oh."

* * *

My, oh, my, this is fun to write. I'm a sadist, or something, apparently.  
Big thanks to **stolenxsanity**, **rhpsfaerie**,& **WD-Den-Mum** for the pre-reading. Virtual neck-hugs, from me to you.

So, uh, are _you_ married? I'm not, clearly.

PS: I totally had to cheat with the FFn Document Uploader to post this, so if the formatting is off, that's why. Blame them, not me.


	5. Chapter 4: Desperately Seeking

**Chapter Four: Desperately Seeking  


* * *

**_Everything is gone but the echo of the burst of a shell  
& I'm stuck here waiting for a passing feeling  
_"A Passing Feeling" – Elliott Smith_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

As I sat at my desk in the high-backed leather chair, my hands splayed across charts, a pen tucked carelessly beneath my pinky finger that should've been furiously noting things on the papers before me, I felt gooseflesh creep across the back of my neck, taut and teased by the sights that surely awaited me behind the closed horizontal blinds of my office window. For the better part of an hour, the thin walls only gave way to silence, the gentle hum of a passing car; but now, at nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, I could hear the mixture of a soft, tinkling laugh and the muffled, throaty words of another voice, and I knew that she was out there, her dark hair whipping in the wind, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink from the burn of the cool air. My feet removed themselves from the spokes of the chair and firmly planted onto the tile beneath me, before kicking, swiveling the chair around so that my body faced the window and my hands clutched the armrests helplessly. More words and laughter and my fingers begged for movement, to situate themselves between the blinds and give my eyes the view they craved. Longingly, I glanced sideways to the low trash can, to the Styrofoam cup that sat among shredded papers and an empty tin of mints, and I sighed loudly before unbuttoning the top button of my shirt and heading for the door, my hands grasping my coat on the way out.

"Jetting out of here early? We frown upon that around here, new guy," Emmett's voice boomed behind me in the hallway. I halted and turned to face him, my mouth setting into a serious, shamed frown, my shoulders shrugging as my arms fitted themselves into the sleeves of my coat. He clapped a hand on my back, his stern expression fading, giving way to a wide smile and I sputtered nervously as his chest heaved out deep, rolling laughter. "I'm just fuckin' with you, man. Going to grab some coffee?"

"Yeah," I muttered, nearly ashamed that I'd been caught. "Coffee."

"Bring me back one of those little, mini apple pie things." He dug out his wallet and handed me a folded bill. I pocketed it without even glancing at it, anxious. "Fuck it, get me one of the normal-sized pies, instead, 'cause Jasper's going to try to thieve it from me anyhow. Better to have more, than less, particularly if someone's going to try to get some for free."

"Apple pie," I echoed, barely paying attention. I let the edge of his bill glide beneath my thumbnail in my pocket and rocked onto the balls of my feet, waiting impatiently for him to finish chattering so that I could leave before I changed my mind. "Anything else?"

"Nope, that'll do it. Thanks, new guy."

He walked off without another word and I dashed, literally ran, for the front door, kicking over a stack of blocks and nearly knocking over a toddler in the process. I stopped, shaking my head, and righted the blocks into a neat stack, apologized to the mother as my cheeks burned in a way that reminded me of Bella, and then my feet were moving again, racing across the street, until they delivered me within a few steps of Bella and her associate and I palmed my cheeks, rubbed warmth into them as I sucked in air. She regarded me with a curious expression, her mouth hanging open mid-word, and her eyes narrowed as they passed over my entire form. Feeling foolish, I toed the sidewalk with my wing tip shoe, not caring if I scuffed it, and stared at her friend for help, feeling utterly lost and overwhelmed.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Where's-the-Other-Girl," the seated, smiley brunette started, her chiming laugh attached to the words, and I grinned over at her, thankful that she was willing to pull me from the drowning waters of my unplanned social death. "What brings you to our side of the tracks?"

"Coffee," I nodded, feeling as out of place as the motion, "and pie."

"We have those," she noted, standing and pulling Bella against her side, her hand pulling through Bella's locks as if she were petting a puppy, moving and tangling in a friendly way, but I felt a strange jealousy course through my chest. "Bella'd be happy to assist you with whatever you'd like. Wouldn't you, Bell?" Bella stomped on her tiny foot with the heel of her shoe, trying to be discreet about it with her minimal motion, but, really, I would've noticed even a fraction of a movement from her, the forethought of her limbs being set into motion, the firing synapses leading to it. I laughed awkwardly, shaking my head, and the small girl gave Bella a shove in the direction of the door. I twisted my mouth to one side and nodded again, placed my hand upon the girl's forearm and gave it a grateful squeeze as Bella disappeared into the café. "You're welcome," she whispered, understanding. "And, I'm Alice, by the way. If you ever need anything, just let me know."

"Thanks."

The air felt unnaturally warm inside of the café and I unlatched the next button at the top of my shirt. Bella was already tucked behind the cash register and I made my way over to her, working my coat off of my arms and around the back of an empty chair, my eyes locked on her and her fidgeting hands all the while. She flushed, as I knew she would, and fiddled with her fingers, lacing them and unlacing them before picking up a pen and rattling it between her thumb and forefinger. I reached across the counter and cupped her hands within mine, loving the sting and burn of her skin beneath it as she fought against my grip, the pen digging into the palm of my hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, fire and anger that came out misplaced as a sigh. "Edward—"

"You act as if you fear me, as if I'm going to attack you."

"You leave me on edge." She wriggled one of her hands free, mostly because I let her, and raked it through her long hair, casting aside a few stray strands that pulled free. I ran a thumb over her small wrist, the one I still had near, and tried to calm her, show her that this, whatever it was, was not to be met with fear. "I don't know—"

"We're not doing anything wrong." I said it aloud for both of us, a reminder that I was nothing more than a customer with miniscule boundary issues, that the electricity between us was a lie. It felt wrong, though, so I continued speaking, trying to convince us both of what we already knew, even in such a short time, was false. "I'm a happily married man, who happens to work across the street, and plans to frequent your establishment for coffee and baked goods. If you see a problem with that, tell me now."

"Edward—"

"Bella, just tell me now."

"_God_," she huffed, her hot, sweet breath hitting my face, "if you'd let me get a word in edgewise, I would."

"Those were words," I smirked, intrigued by her ever-changing moods and the words that came with them. "The floor's yours."

"The whole café is mine," she laughed, odd and throaty. "I just— Correct me, if I'm wrong, but doesn't it seem like, doesn't it feel like—"

"Yes."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I think I do." Looking down at our tangled hands, I pressed my fingers into her skin and watched as my fingertips changed from pink to white, my grasp hard and heavy as I tried to ignite the fire between us, show her that it was there, that it was real. "This feels wrong and right and I've never had this before, never wanted this."

"_This_," she spat, huffing again, her nails breaking the surface of my skin. I winced and dropped her hand, let her go, let her stew in her warranted anger as she paced the length of the counter. "With all due respect, Edward, we've spent no more than ten minutes together in a lifetime of minutes. Whatever _this_ is will fade into the background over time. _This_ isn't anything."

"Don't tell me you don't feel it." She stopped at those words, her feet in an awkward stance, her torso and face turning toward me. Her eyes gave her away, full of emotion, new ground, heavy hopes and equal fears, and I frowned, though, somehow, I felt peculiarly victorious. "Don't lie to my face." She was quiet for a while, uncharacteristically still, or so it seemed, her skin a tepid shade of ivory and her hands halted, and I began to panic, fear that I'd really read too much into things, seen more than what was really in her eyes. Perhaps, I'd made it all up in my head and she was depressing some sort of silent alarm beneath the countertop. Swallowing hard, I bowed my head, my eyes closed tightly, and begged her, "Please, just say something."

"I feel it."

I didn't know where to go from there, what to say, so I watched as she thawed from her rigid stance and poured some coffee into a new Styrofoam cup, pressed the lid on with her thin fingers, and set it clear in the center of the counter between us. I reached for it slowly, my hand grasping around it fully, and then she was there, her fingers curling around mine, barely covering my hand. Shocked, moved, scared, I stared at our hands, then into her eyes, and we both nodded, some kind of silent understanding, agreeing to nothing and everything, all at once. She licked her lips and I thought of what it would be like to lick them for her, but shook my head; shook the thought from my mind. Admitting was enough and I did not need to delve deeper, couldn't bring myself to do so, even if I desperately wanted to.

"I'm married," I repeated, as if neither of us actually knew it.

"I know."

"I love her," I croaked, feeling guilty just by saying the words, justifying my marriage, my life, to a complete stranger. "I don't want this."

"I don't want this, either."

"But, I want this."

"I want this, too." Her fingers flexed over mine, closing out our conversation, and I savored the feel of them, tried to picture them gripping my shoulders, my hips, bending and pressing into my chest, but then she moved them and all I had were cold images and a hot cup of coffee. She gave me a smile, a genuine one that reached her eyes, and moved away, situated herself behind the pastry case, shielding her body from my roaming gaze. Her hand, the one that had just been upon mine, glided over the glass at the top of the case, her fingers fanned out and dragging, and she peered into it with her wide eyes. "So, you said you needed pie, too?"

"Yeah, the other guys in my office—"

"Emmett loves my apple pie, yeah."

"Jasper, too." I smiled, feeling light, as if no serious discussion had ever taken place between us, let alone, moments before. "He steals Emmett's pie, so I'll need one of the big ones."

"Jasper's a bit shady, wiry. I could see him going all covert ops and sneaking a piece when no one's looking." Bella's laugh was delicate, airy and it didn't match her low voice, but it was sickly sweet nonetheless, and I wanted more and more of it. "Either that, or he could just hide behind Emmett's gigantic back, since he's so little, and take it that way. Keep an eye out and let me know how he does it."

"Will do." She slid a pie into a box and tied a ribbon around it, dressing it up, even though it was just going to be demolished once it was carried across the street. I smirked at her effort, her charm, and pulled my wallet and Emmett's cash from my pockets as she set it before me on the counter. "So, do I get to pay with actual money this time?"

"Not a chance." Her hand brushed over mine as I took the box from her, balanced it with my coffee against my forearms, hugged tightly to my torso, and I frowned. She caught it and returned one of her own, a bigger and more comical version, before she licked the corner of her mouth and smiled, instead. "I'm sure you'll find some way to repay me, sooner or later. Now, go, get out of my store, and be a doctor."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Super duper gigantic Emmett-sized thank you to **stolenxsanity**, who, somehow, morphed into my beta over the last few weeks & is always so gracious & sweet when it comes to my appalling comma usage. My love, if I could give you a million Jackspers, I would.

What's your favorite kind of pie? Mine's Blacksmith Pie from The Forge in Miami. I've tried to make it many times, but I always fail. Sigh.

PS: I know that, like, _all_ of you are a bit pissed that he's married, especially to someone as sweet as Angela, but, damn it, loves, that's kind of the point here. I'm going for reality. Not all men who are tempted are married to monsters. Those of you sticking with it, thanks for making me feel brave, loved. I appreciate every single one of you & I know that I don't tell you that enough. Thanks.


	6. Chapter 5: In a Wishing Well

**Chapter Five: In a Wishing Well  


* * *

**_I need an explanation  
An emancipation  
From this revelation that I just can't bear  
_"Before I Speak" – Kyle Riabko_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

There was a soft wash of light peeking through the slats of the front window of the doctor's office, and I chewed my lower lip heartily as I tread across the street, a purple box stuffed with cookies bouncing in my hands with my every step. I settled it on the curb, making sure the patch of cement was free of snow, as I tried to settle my stomach with the last few drags off my cigarette before stubbing it out, only to light another. I wrung my hands as my lungs made heavy pulls from the stick that dangled between my lips, and I tried to find the words that would explain how I came to think it was alright to venture onto his side of the street.

"Bella?" Edward's long, lean frame was illuminated by the dense glow of the corner streetlamp, and I found myself both shocked and shaken. Carelessly, I let the cigarette fall from my lips and burn a hole in my pea coat as it made its descent to the ground. "What are you doing out here? We close at seven."

"The light was on inside," I muttered, all prior explanations that had been half-concocted forgotten. "Cookies." I pointed to the box at my feet before crouching to scoop it up and push it against his chest. His hands wrapped around mine and the pads of his fingers pressed firmly into my skin, forbidden and sweet. "For you."

"For me?"

"Just the cookies."

"I wasn't—"

"You were." Sighing, I tried to find a way to keep us from delving into another bout of words that included _feel_ and _want_ and _don't_. I wriggled my hands free of his, leaving him to hold the box while I dug out another cigarette from my pack and lit it quickly with frustrated, fumbling fingers, burning hands that could've sparked the tobacco to life on nothing more than energy alone. I puffed a few drags, my eyebrows knitting together, and avoided his eyes. "What are you doing here if you're closed, anyway?"

"I have paperwork to get finished." I heard him tear the tape from the lid of the box and rifle through the contents. I smiled a little bit and took in the heady scent of my handiwork, glad that he was eager. "These smell divine." I watched as he pulled a vanilla-honey cookie from the box and wrapped his mouth around it. I nearly dropped my second cigarette of the night. He chewed and brushed away crumbs and the ash on the end of my smoke collected and grew until it broke under the weight of itself and floated to the floor. I took another drag, as he swallowed, to mask my ridiculous need to gasp at something as simple as this somewhat-stranger eating my cookies. "That's the official story, anyway." He shrugged, his fingers pinching out another cookie, and he held it midair between the box and his mouth. "I kind of just needed to get away."

"Edward, I'm not some—"

"This isn't about you." He dropped the cookie back into the box, uneaten, and closed the lid. "Nor is it about her."

"I wasn't—"

"You were." Despite the seriousness of his tone, he still, somehow, managed to smile at me while he gave me back my words. "Are you closed for the night?"

"Alice is taking care of that." I looked across the street at the brightly lit windows and the bustling forms contained within them and smiled, feeling a vague sense of pride. "She's good to me."

"It seems that way." Edward took a step toward me and shifted the box from his chest to his hip, his arm curling around it to keep it steady against his side. I gasped softly, so soft it was undetectable, and discarded my cigarette; my traitorous, electric heart reasoning, "_Just in case_." His free hand moved, twitched, almost, before he shoved it in his pocket with haste. "Would you— Could you come inside?"

I nodded and then followed him to the entryway, my eyes lingering on the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt as he worked his key into the lock. He glanced over his shoulder as he unlatched the door and pressed it open and my cheeks burned hot, as my eyes had lingered far too long. He offered me a smile, but it felt right and that was wrong.

"I've never been in here. All these years, working across the street, countless pies for the guys, and I've never set foot inside." I took in the décor – the line of matching leather chairs, the solid beige wallpaper, the dark cherry wood tables – and thought what a nice, masculine counterpart this office would make for my delicate, frilly café. Shaking my head at myself, my ridiculous thoughts, I followed him past the reception desk into the hallway and decided that his shoulder blades were safe spots to rest my eyes. His feet stilled in front of me and I halted before my face pressed against his back, my eyes roaming to find the placard beside the door that read, DR. EDWARD MASEN. "You have an office and everything, huh? How very official of you."

"I _am_ a doctor." He smirked and pressed the door open, ushered me inside with a sweeping hand. "Pick any chair you'd like, even mine." I sat in one of the chairs that wasn't his and folded my legs beneath my body. He sat in his chair, settled the box of cookies on the desk between us, and propped his elbows up on the desk, his cheek resting in an upturned palm. We stared, comforted but not comfortable, and the second hand on his clock in the corner filled the silence until Edward said, "My life is so normal, so planned and peaceful."

"I didn't mean to interrupt that, you know."

"You have and you haven't." Edward licked his lower lip, but in such a sorrowful, thoughtful way that I couldn't possibly find it attractive. "My normality was bred out of destruction and I thought it was everything I wanted, that the structure would complete the holes that were ripped in my skin, but what if I was wrong?"

"You're speaking like I know you."

"I feel like you do." He bowed his head, his eyes closed, and he took deep breaths through his nose. I shifted my position, leaned closer to him, my forearms atop my knees, and nearly wished that he did know me, that I could offer solace for the pain he was feeling. "I have skeletons." His gaze leveled on mine and I felt a lump form in my throat. In that moment, I knew it was more than electrical currents and his unique hair color; I had to know him, had to have him in my life. "I met Angela when I was in college, grad school, and she—"

"Edward—"

"This isn't about her." He swallowed hard, or so it appeared, and I snapped my hanging jaw shut. "I met her at a time when I was fragile, broken. I was in my first year of medical school, burning the candle at both ends, and I had a panic attack in the middle of a bookstore. She was there, talked me down, and we talked afterwards, got coffee a few days later. I was in too deep with school and work to even contemplate a relationship, but I was pleased to have made a friend, as all my others had fallen away when life had gotten too hectic for casual beer nights and the petty drama." He licked his lips and I leaned closer, placed my palms on the desktop, and rubbed the wood with my thumbs, hoping the feel of it would transfer across the expanse of wood and find his arms, somehow. "We were good friends for a little while, neither one of us wanted more, and it was good, really good. Then," his voice broke and I watched him tremble. "Then, my father put a shotgun in his mouth and my mother overdosed a week later. I was broken, fragile, and worse than that by a mile."

"Edward—"

"Angela doesn't know the circumstances that pushed me into her arms." He continued as if he hadn't just delivered the single saddest thing I'd ever heard, and I wanted to cover his mouth with my hands and hold him against me until the pain in his heart faded away. I knew it was there, it had to be, even though he didn't show any outward signs. I almost moved to reach for him, to cross more lines, but he fell back against his chair as if he felt my approach and continued, "She knows they're dead, obviously, as she saw me fall apart, saw me dressed in a black suit with red-rimmed eyes, but she doesn't know that I tried to fill the void with her. Any love at all was better than feeling nothing and I tried to fill myself with as much of her, of that feeling as I could. Eventually, we fell into a relationship."

"Edward—"

"Lily wasn't planned. She was a complete accident, a result of me trying to feel loved, to feel something, and when Angela told me that she didn't believe in abortion, I proposed, thought it was the good and decent thing to do." I weighed his words, surmised that Lily was his child, and frowned, feeling sad for the little girl that he didn't plan on loving. "Don't get me wrong, I love Lily with all that I am, but, if it weren't for her, if it weren't for my parents succumbing to horrible financial stressors placed upon them by my drive to fix people, I wouldn't have been trying to fix myself with Angela, and I wouldn't be in this situation now." A gushing sigh moved past his lips and he covered half of his face with one of his large palms. I stretched one of my hands further across the oak, prayed to be able to reach him, but I couldn't, so I retracted the hand and balanced it atop his stapler, my mind spinning. "I love them all; love them madly and dearly, but I can't help but wish they all were gone, that none of this happened to me, to them. But, on the other hand, without the events that transpired, I never would have ended up here, in this time and place with you, and that nearly makes my history bearable." My breathing hitched and my heart raced, but my head felt wrong and he knew it, somehow. "I know that sounds unbalanced and wrong and horribly forward or something, but those are my skeletons."

"Everyone has skeletons, Edward. We all have closets to hide them in, too. It's all a matter of who you give those closet keys to and who you don't." I ran a hand through my hair and toyed with the letter opener on the edge of his desk. "I don't deserve those keys."

"You're the first person I've wanted to give them to."

"You make me feel like I'm drowning." I sighed around the words and dropped the letter opener. It clattered against the desk and echoed just how alone we were in the confines of his office. "I'm drowning, kicking against the undertow, but I think I want you to pull me under. This is all so very wrong."

"It isn't right, but it isn't wrong, either." Edward stood and I flinched, my limbs tense and pulling, feeling like they needed to be nearer to him. He moved closer to me, bent beside the chair that I sat in and grasped my shaking hand. "I am happily married, yes, and I have a daughter, yes, and I have obligations and ties and conditions, but I didn't plan any of those things and they aren't who I am, they are just my circumstance. I am planned and peaceful, but it wasn't intentional." His fingers laced with mine and I held on for dear life, prayed that he would never let go. "I wanted to do right by Angela when we brought Lily into this world and I still do – need to do right by Lily, too – but that isn't going to stop me from having you in my life." His fingers flexed in mine and we both stared at the way they laced together. "This is far too much to let go."

"So, what do we do?"

"We do what I've always done." His hand pressed harder against mine and my heart fluttered, beat with heavy anxiety as I waited for more words. "We tiptoe and we speak and we try to be good people as we make the best of a bad situation."

"Friends?" I offered in a choked, strained voice.

"Friends."

* * *

Thank you to the lovely **rhpsfaerie **for telling me to _add_ commas. What a foreign concept for me. ;)

So, who still thinks Edward is a dickface?


	7. Chapter 6: Lovesick Larceny

**Chapter Six: Lovesick Larceny  


* * *

**_So, baby, don't move at all  
'Cause you're about to break my fall  
_"Don't Move" – Butch Walker_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

"These are _delicious_," Angela mused as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, a half-eaten cookie pinched between her thumb and pointer finger, crumbs sticking to her lower lip. The sun was barely up and, with it, so were Angela and Lily and, apparently, they no longer had any regard for what time of day desserts were meant to be eaten. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but my jaw ached to hang slackened, and I ducked my head into the refrigerator under the guise of hunting down orange juice so that I could give my mouth the sickened relief it craved. I rifled around for a bit, before realizing the juice was directly in front of my face, and I grabbed it hastily and drank from the container. "Barbarian, we use cups around here." I turned at the sound of her voice and swallowed what was in my mouth, wiping the corners with the back of my hand. Giving her a smile, tight, yet convincing, I grabbed a glass from the cabinet behind me and filled it to the brim. "That's better."

"So," I started, the glass hovering near my mouth, poised to take a sip to buy me time if I didn't think of anything to say, "it's pretty early, huh?"

"We had an early night, which makes for an early morning. I fell asleep while reading to this little munchkin," Angela laughed, scooping a squealing Lily up and pulling her onto her lap as she sat at the kitchen table. "You got in pretty late."

"I did." The refrigerator became my escape plan, again, and I moved things around until I found the eggs, which were also right in front of me. I busied myself at the stove – heating a pan, cracking the eggs, melting butter in said pan, whipping said eggs into scrambled submission – and sensed Angela's eyes on my back, her ears trained in wait for my explanation. "You know how it is. It's a new place. They dump all of the busy work on me and see if I can survive; trial by fire, or something like that."

"Yeah, I can imagine." I poured the eggs into the pan and listened to Angela sigh, felt her arms wrap around my waist from behind moments later. She kissed over my shoulder blade through my robe, then leaned her cheek against my back. "Don't run yourself into the ground, though," she whispered. "We need you around here, mister."

"I'll do my best."

I sighed and gave her hands a squeeze as they rested over my abdomen, before turning my attention back to the pan. I scrambled the eggs, as Angela began her own scramble, the daily one of keeping Lily entertained, and I nearly cried out in relief when they disappeared into the living room for some cartoons. Quickly, I finished making breakfast, and delivered two plates full of eggs to the girls in the other room before kissing Lily's forehead and darting upstairs to ready myself for the day.

In the shower, I tried not to think of Bella. I tried not to imagine the way her skin would feel pressed tightly against mine; in front, behind, underneath me, the bounce of her weight in my lap as she perched above me. I begged my brain not to conjure fictitious images of parted lips, the way her moans would mimic her throaty laughter. I tried; I failed. Giving in, with one hand fisted punishingly in my hair all the while, I jerked off quickly, efficiently, and then sat in the basin with my knees pulled to my chest and sighed beneath the falling water.

"_Friends_," I muttered to no one, and picked myself up off of the shower floor. "Right."

For the first time in ages, I put actual thought into my appearance. Though, being a professional, an upstanding physician, I certainly had a standard of dress which I generally adhered to. I hadn't really cared what color shirt brought out the color of my eyes best, which way I styled my hair accentuated my jaw line in the most masculine manner. However, as I stood in my closet, my hands tugging the cuffs of various shirts, I tried to discern which Bella would like best. I knew that Angela preferred me in anything and everything blue, but Bella wasn't Angela and, well, wasn't that the point? Feeling a bit sick to my stomach, I grabbed a navy button-up and fitted my arms through the sleeves before I could decide on anything else.

"I love that shirt," Angela said as I descended the staircase. She pulled me by the collar and kissed my cheek, my hands automatically fitting to her hips. She snuggled against me briefly, until Lily bounded into the room and squirmed between us, and Angela laughed. I pulled away, my hands reaching for my briefcase and the doorknob. "You'll be home tonight, yes?"

"I'll try." I straightened the cuffs of my shirtsleeves and checked my reflection briefly in the foyer mirror. "It all depends on what they throw at me."

"Well, I'm making that shrimp dish you like tonight, if that's any incentive for you to come home on time." There was a glint in Angela's eyes that I knew very well and, as she covered Lily's ears and whispered, "There are more incentives, if you come home early and with a bottle of wine," to me, I felt a cold sweat break out across my neck. She kissed my mouth lightly, a smile on her lips, and mused, "Have a great day, honey."

"You, too." I bent and kissed Lily's cheeks, each one four times, and she laughed against me, bubbling with excitement. "Be good, Lil Monster."

Halfway down the block, I pulled the car over to dry heave into someone's bushes. I wasn't ill; at least, not physically, but my mind was that which belonged to a sick, twisted man and I was starting to feel it throughout. I drove the rest of the way to work thinking of bottles of wine and making love to my wife and none of it felt right anymore. I wasn't sure if it ever would again.

I tried not to notice the café as I pulled my car around the corner and into an open parking spot, but my neck turned of its own accord and I sighed as I saw her standing out front. She had her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of something – coffee, probably – and she was leaning back against the brick front of her shop, her eyes closed, face tipped toward the gloomy, grey sky. She looked completely at peace and I couldn't help but think of how unfair that seemed at the present moment, even if that thought was ridiculously selfish. I allowed myself to stare a bit longer, just a few moments, until I sighed and pulled myself and my briefcase from the car, praying silently that she'd open her eyes and just grant me something as simple as a smile, anything to brighten my morning. Then, she did, and I found my legs carrying me to her, my stomach settling.

"Hey," I breathed, stopping within a few feet of her, close enough to smell the coffee in her mug. I grinned at my prediction and my mouth watered to taste the same thing she had on her tongue, if not just her tongue alone. "Good morning."

"Mornin'." She pushed herself off of the wall and walked around me, stood behind me until I turned to face her. Her eyes were trained on the window of her shop and she sipped her coffee slowly before letting her eyes find mine. "We're not so busy right now. My dad seems to think it's 'cause of something to do with the weather and fishing. Did you want something?"

_Everything. You. All of you._

"Coffee would be great."

"How about a muffin to go with that coffee?" Her mouth formed a smirk, a small one, and I wanted to run my finger between the crease. "I can't take any pride in the coffee, so, yeah, humor me? I just baked some fresh apple walnut ones."

"Sounds perfect."

Bella moved to reach for the door handle, but I swatted her hand away and pulled the door open, instead. She walked through the doorway, a brow quirked in a manner that looked like mild surprise, and I smiled to myself as she walked ahead of me and moved behind the counter. I watched through the pastry case she as poured a cup of coffee and pulled out the biggest muffin of the bunch, set it on a plate with a delicate pattern of roses along the edge.

"You're staying this time," she ordered with a smile, plate in her upturned palm and the mug of coffee outstretched to me. It was my turn to quirk a brow, but I wasn't about to fight her, and the smile on my mouth surely spoke of my resignation. If she wanted me with her, in any capacity, I'd be there. "Follow me."

Bella led me through the kitchen and I paused to steal a cookie off of the rack by the oven, only to be met with her playful glare and a delicious laugh. She pressed open the back door and held it open for me, leaving it to boom closed behind us as she tread across the slick gravel in the alley to a beast of a truck – red and rusty and so very _her_ – that barely fit in the small space. She handed me the plate and I balanced it in one hand while I sipped coffee with the other, watched as she pulled a blanket out from the cab of the truck and spread it over the downturned tailgate.

"Have you ever heard of a bad day that started with a picnic?" she asked, hopping up onto the edge of the tailgate. I settled beside her on the blanket and placed the muffin between us, turning my body to face hers. I shook my head at her question and grinned heartily. "Yeah, I haven't, either, and you looked like you were already having quite a bad one when you got out of your car."

"So, you're like my knight in shining armor?" I smirked, pulling off a piece of the muffin top and popping it into my mouth.

"More like your baker in shining oven mitts, but, whatever." Bella tore off a piece of the muffin for herself and I watched longingly as her lips closed around it. "Care to tell me what's got you so blue. You know, 'cause that's what friends do, right?"

"I really shouldn't–"

"This is never going to work, Edward, if all we do is make excuses."

"Bella, this whole _thing_ is an excuse." It sounded harsher than I'd meant it to, but it was what it was. "Friends are all we can be; it's settling."

"Maybe we shouldn't, then." I gasped a bit into the coffee mug, but she backtracked, saying, "Be friends, I mean. Not settle. Maybe we shouldn't be friends."

"Bad days aren't supposed to start with picnics."

"So, tell me what's going on." I turned my body away from her, kicked my legs back and forth over the tailgate, and held my mug in both hands in my lap, trying to find the right way to pose my thoughts, how to say them aloud. "Edward, just tell me. Whatever it is, I won't judge you. If we're going to do this friends thing, we have to do it right. You can trust me."

"You've stolen everything away from me, but you haven't done a damn thing, at all." I said the words quickly, nearly spat them, though, they weren't meant to be full of anger. I just needed to make accusations and it wasn't like the statement was lacking truth. Bella pressed her fingers into my forearm and managed to turn me to her. I saw her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her eyes wide, full of confusion. I raked a hand over my face, scratched the underside of my jaw, and sighed, feeling guilty and awful. "Angela ate your cookies." It sounded so foolish when it left my lips, but really, that's where the day had started to go wrong. "Those were from you, for me, and it seems silly, I know, but even that small thing, somehow, feels like cheating to me. Like, Angela is eating the cookies of the girl that I fantasize about and that seems wrong to me."

"You _fantasize_ about me? Edward–"

"_I know_," I whimpered. "It's wrong and everything is wrong, but I don't know what's right anymore, or even what I'm doing, what I want to do. I'm so conflicted, lost."

"We're friends, Edward, unless you say otherwise."

"Don't let me say otherwise. I can't be that man. She fixed me. I can't break her. I can't break our home."

"Something's going to break, no matter what we do," Bella sighed. "There's no stopping that now, and for that, I'm sorry."

She walked off, leaving me alone with a half-eaten muffin, cold coffee, and even more weight upon my shoulders than before. Sighing loudly, I left the plate and mug on the tailgate and walked around to the front of the building, my eyes fixed on my office and a frown upon my mouth. Picnic or not, I was, certainly, having a horrible day.

* * *

How do you take your coffee?  
Mine is, usually, full of sugar & cream & barely still resembling coffee.

Thank you to **stolenxsanity** for continuing to be The Comma Police.


	8. Chapter 7: Anything at All

**Chapter Seven: Anything at All  


* * *

**_Maybe we, could walk this road together  
Maybe we, could overcome it all  
Maybe we, could hold on to each other  
There's nothing else left to do  
& nothing that we can't get through, together  
_"Maybe We" – Tony Lucca_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

Even with the constant hum of patrons, the whirl of my mixer on top speed, all I could hear was silence; the kind of silence that is so deafening that you just want to shout against it, pummel it until it ceases and gives way to sound. It had been three days since I had spoken with Edward, left him alone in the alley behind the café, and to be perfectly honest, that was three days too long. Like when you find a new band that your ears had been missing the sound of your entire life, or a new food that your mouth can't live without after your first taste, I was missing Edward; I was missing him badly. Like a love struck fool, I sat alongside the front window, my knees pulled to my chest in one of the iron-backed chairs, and craned my neck just far enough so that I could see the door to his office out of the corner of my eye. With each patient that came and went, I found myself getting even more distraught that I couldn't even look upon him, let alone hear the warm syrupy timbre of his voice.

"Just go over there." Alice sat down across from me at the small bistro table and pushed a to-go cup of coffee in my direction, her scrawl on the side of the cup indicating that it was prepped the way Edward liked it. I slid it back over to her side of the table and huffed out a breath, my mouth turning into a dramatic frown. "Don't act like you don't want to. I know you, Bella."

"Well, if you know me so well, you'd know that I have never once had an interest in becoming a home-wrecker." Alice's teasing, albeit encouraging, smile dimmed and gave way to a sturdy, firm line of her lips. She bowed her head, stared at her hands, and I reached across the table to grab them as I sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated." She looked up at me warily, her mouth tugging up at one corner in an effort to smile, and I nodded, giving her a small smile in return. "I know you're trying to be the single greatest best friend in the history of the world by encouraging me in this, but I really don't think either one of us should be thinking this has any possibility to end well."

"I'm not focused on the end," Alice said softly. "Most good things end, but they're worth the beginning and middle." It was my turn to look away and I stared longingly at the cup between us on the table. "Even if that man stomps all over your heart in the end, it's better than not knowing what could have been. You can't avoid taking chances in life simply because you think the outcome is going to be sour. If that were the case, you wouldn't have this place, right?"

"That's different." She shook her head, slid her hands out from under mine, and gestured around her with upturned palms, bringing my gaze to the various parts of the café that I had slaved over; the wallpaper that I had hung by myself the week before opening, the shelves lined with books that Charlie and I had built, the tile floor that Alice had helped me grout. I had poured my heart and soul into the place, but not once did I think it had the capability of shattering me to pieces. Edward was not the café. "I knew what I was getting into with this place, Alice. I knew that I was a good enough baker and smart enough with money to run a shop. There are no guarantees with him."

"Honey, in matters of the heart, there are no guarantees."

"Try telling that to his wife, who was promised _'til death do us part_. I'm fairly certain they didn't have a variation in their vows that said, _until a home-wrecking bitch do us part_, but, you know, feel free to hunt down his lady and find out."

"Do you even know who she is?"

"Does it matter? She found him first." I pouted and turned to look out of the window again. Nothing had changed; he still wasn't there. "She grew up around here. That's all I really know about her." Across the street, the door opened, and my entire body shifted into a state of alertness. A small redheaded boy and his mother were all my eyes found and I sighed. "Her name's Angela."

"Angela, huh? I don't think I— _Angela Weber_?"

"_No_," I gasped, my hands coming up to cover my gaping mouth. "It _can't _be." I wracked my brain for other Angelas that had lived in or come through Forks over my lifetime, but she was the only one. "Damn it. I actually liked her in high school." I grabbed the coffee cup in one hand and pulled off the lid, downing half of it in two gulps. "Fuck, this just got a lot more complicated."

Alice hugged me and went back to the register, as a woman had taken to standing in front of the pastry case and tapping her foot loudly against the tile, and I stared blankly at the sea of tables and chairs before me, their lines blurring into each other and becoming nothing more than a haze. Absently, I sipped Edward's coffee and frowned, recalling all of the good times I'd had with his wife in my teenage years; sleepovers, shopping for prom gowns, weekends down at First Beach with the rest of our pals. She was a sweet girl, kindhearted, and I absolutely couldn't imagine someone like Edward being married to someone like her. She was so pure, plain, and he was, well, he was _Edward_. Not to say that I was any great contender for his heart or otherwise, but, _Angela_? I drained the last of the cup of coffee and sighed, setting the empty cup on the table, and then I heard him.

"Yeah, that one," he was saying to Alice, his long index finger pointing to a pumpkin pie in the case. "Oh, and maybe a few of those brownies. Thanks."

"Anything else?" Alice asked sweetly and I watched as Edward shook his head. "Alright, well, let me just box these up for you and you'll be good to go. I'll be right back."

I felt rooted to the spot where I sat and, though I'd been waiting for days to see him, hear him, I could not bring myself to call him over, go to him, or even breathe. I stared, helpless, as he splayed his long fingers across the countertop near the register and leaned against it, his right foot crossing over his left as he stood. A small, short whimper escaped my throat and then my arms found enough power to move themselves to cover my face as my cheeks flushed.

"Bella?" he asked, his voice sounding nearer. I couldn't bring myself to look at him and, instead, moved my hands to toy with the empty cup in front of me as I bit my lip and stared at my short fingernails. "I didn't see you there, otherwise I would've said hi." He sat down in the chair Alice had vacated and pulled my hands from around the cup, covered them with his. I nodded, feeling lost and shaken. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy," I lied, pulling it together enough to speak solidly. He cleared his throat and I briefly glanced at him before looking away again, troubled by the way his forehead was creased and the squint of his eyes. "So," I started, feeling a bit more confident in my voice, "how's the wife?"

"Bella, don't—"

"I'm not being a bitch. I, honestly, want to know." And, I did, kind of. "You know, I actually knew her long before you ever put a ring on that finger. Angela Weber and I had many a sleepover back in high school. Her prom dress was green. She's a fan of Reese's Pieces, but not the cups – at least, she was."

"Really, Bella, we shouldn't be talking about this."

"Why? We're _friends_, Edward. Don't friends ask about things like this?"

"I just don't think it's in our best interest to—"

"None of this is in our best interest, Edward." His fingertips dug into the sides of my hands as he held them in place. I wasn't trying to move, wasn't trying to break free of his grasp, but, for some reason it seemed like he was trying to stop me from doing so, anyway. I sighed and licked my lips, inhaled deeply, and leveled my gaze with his. Someone had to be the bigger person here, and, apparently, that someone was going to have to be me. "Look, either we do this the right way and we really are friends – not just the title, but _actual_ friends who talk and do things together and don't avoid each other for days at a time until someone needs pie – or we just cut if off now before it gets any messier." His lips parted and he looked as if he was going to attempt to fight me on what I'd said, but then he sighed and loosened his grip on my hands, closed his mouth, and looked away. "It's for the best," I told him quietly, "even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

"Why does it sound like you're breaking up with me?" he laughed, but it sounded all wrong; like a sputtering engine that normally purred heartily.

"Edward," I sighed, shifting our hands until mine lay atop his, and I laced our fingers together. His hands trembled beneath mine and I nodded, our eyes meeting meaningfully. "That's why." I pressed my hands down upon his, tried to still his fingers between mine, and waited until he leveled out, before I leaned across the table and pressed our hands over my heart, showed him that he wasn't the only one affected. His eyes widened, his breaths slowed, and I murmured, "Don't make me walk away from this."

"Bella—"

"If you're going to say that you can't do this, then just don't say anything at all, okay?" I couldn't bring myself to want to hear just how badly he didn't need me in his life. "I don't want to—"

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Just give me your phone, Bella." I dug it out of the back pocket of my jeans and slid it across the table to him, one of my hands still gripping his. He used his free hand to enter in his phone number and store it as _Friendward_ in my contacts. I laughed as I watched, my smile nearly painful, and I ran a thumb over the screen as he gave it back to me. "There. Friends."

"You're sure about this?" I asked, pocketing my phone, again. "'Cause, if you're not— if you don't—" Edward raised our hands to his chest, a mirror replica of my action, and I felt his heart beating just as quickly as mine had been; a breakneck pace of blood and emotion and want. He smiled and ducked his head to brush his lips lightly against my knuckles. Forbidden pleasures washed over me and I pulled away, pulled my hands to my lap, feeling the scorch of his somewhat-kiss upon my skin. "Friends don't do that."

"Here's your pie, Edward," Alice said quickly, setting a few boxes on the table between us to fill the space, as her appearance had done with what was surely to become another uncomfortable conversation. Edward smiled up at her, shook his head, and I shifted my whole body in her direction, nudging her lightly with my foot under the table in thanks. "Well then, that'll be twenty dollars even, but you can pay us later. I'm sure you've got sick kids to tend to and all that so just, you know, run along and we'll be here."

"Uh— Thanks, Alice." Edward stood, understanding the finality in Alice's tone, and he shot me a glance, a smile to go with it. I returned it in kind and added a small wave as he collected the boxes and shuffled away from us. "Use the number, Bella. I mean it."

"I will."

I pulled the phone back out and set it on the table, a bit of reassurance. He nodded and grinned, pressed the door open, and I couldn't help the ridiculous smile that spread across my mouth as the sound of silence faded and replaced itself with the pounding rush of blood I'd felt in his heart.

* * *

What happens when I get writer's block on CN&FL? You get lots of IB updates. Depending on who you are, this is a good thing or a bad thing. I'm sorry or you're welcome.

Thank you to **stolenxsanity** & ** rhpsfaerie** for being the best somewhat-sometimes-betas ever.


	9. Chapter 8: Winding Down, Deeper

**Chapter Eight: Winding Down, Deeper  


* * *

**_It's up to you now  
This place is filling up with smoke  
You won't let me breathe in or out  
So I resolve to cut my own throat  
_"Sleepsinging" – The Damnwells_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

All day, I waited with itching fingers and hitched breaths, anticipation seeping through my bones, ravaging my skin with aches of want and need. As I met with each patient, each parent, analyzed each sniffle and dressed each wound, I kept one hand on the outside of my pocket, just waiting for a glimmer of a buzz beneath my fingertips. The buzz never came and my stomach twisted with anxiety, turned with each _what if_, and there wasn't a thing I could do to control it, calm it. What I did, instead, was deepen the worry, the wonder, by sitting in my office and staring, unblinking, at the shop across the street after all of my patients had come and gone. Still, my fingers lay poised atop my pocket and my breaths stayed shallow and I waited.

The buzz came around five o'clock in the evening, but it wasn't the one I was looking for, and, sadly, it hurt to admit that.

"Hey, Angie," I sighed absently into the receiver, my eyes locked on the front entrance of the café. "I'm just finishing up."

"So are we. I took Lily out for pizza." Lily shouted something in the background, her voice a chirping call of happiness and warmth, but my stomach pitched, again, and I mumbled some sort of affirmative reply. "Yeah, we're right down the street from your office, so I grabbed you a few slices to go; sausage and peppers, just how you like it. Mind if we stop by?"

"Sure." At that very moment in time, while on the phone with my wife, making plans to see her in probably no more than a few minutes, my phone vibrated against my ear and I quickly looked at the screen, before asking, "How long until you're here?"

"Maybe five minutes or so; we're on foot."

"Great." My thumb hovered near the button to end the call, ready to strike. "I'll see you soon."

Once off the phone, I saw Bella step out of the café, cigarette in one hand, her phone in the other, and I scrambled to read the text message that she'd sent me – _Hey. Would've texted or something sooner, but it's been a hell of a day. Just wanted you to have my number, too. Hi. - Bella_

I watched the way the wind fluttered the frayed ends of her scarf as my thumbs texted a reply – _Hi. What's kept you so busy? All of the children in the world were in here today, so, surely, you couldn't have had many kiddies with sweet teeth bouncing around your shop. - Edward_ – and I waited to see what sort of expression crossed her face as she read it. She inhaled deeply from her cigarette and bounced on the balls of her feet, her hand raising her phone to meet her gaze every few moments, until it stayed there and she smiled down at the device in her palm. My worried stomach turned in a different way at the notice of her expression, the quickness of her fingers to pen a reply, and I grinned at my phone, too, waiting for it to vibrate, again.

_It was all of the childless women in town. The older, crabby ones. They suck. A lot. Clearly, I'm tired, as "they suck" doesn't even begin to describe them. How was your day, other than busy? – Bella_

_It was long. Lots of little, sick kids, which is never fun for anyone. Make anything tasty today? - Edward_

I waited, tapped my phone against my pursed lips, as I watched Bella smile and type her reply. I licked my lips as it came through the line, hoped that she'd regale me with descriptions of pecan pie or something similar. I was hungrier than I thought.

_You'll just have to pop in after work and find out, presuming you're still there. Are you still there? - Bella_

I smirked as I watched her. She took long drags from her cigarette – her second one in a matter of minutes – and leaned with a tired slump against the window, her head blocking out the "f" in "café" on the glass. She checked her phone again, as I typed – _Your posture is horrible and smoking is bad for you. Nice scarf. - Edward _– into my phone and sent the message off to her.

Recognition crossed her face as she peered down at her phone, and I could almost hear the gasp that escaped her mouth and floated around her in a wash of warm fog in the cool air. Then, she smiled devilishly, her cigarette tucked between her lips as she used both hands to type – _Are you watching me? That's a bit creepy, sir. If you see someone flipping you off across the street, that's not me. - Bella_

"Hey," Angela's voice cut through my low laughter and I whipped around in my desk chair, nearly knocking the stack of files on my desk over with my flailing arms. She stifled a laugh of her own and held up the small pizza box, which Lily grabbed as she ran over to me and flung herself into my lap. I tucked an arm around her and tried to keep her still, as I scooted us nearer to the desk and opened the box. Angela moved closer, took a seat in one of the chairs opposite us, and frowned at the stacks of papers and files on my desk. "Jesus, Edward, is this what has been keeping you here so late these past few nights? Why you've been coming in early? Have they no secretarial staff?"

"They do, but these are my charts and I like to input them myself, make sure there aren't any errors." I bit off a hearty piece of pizza and chewed it quickly, swallowed it down, so I could continue. "For a small town, I never anticipated so many children. I saw three Daniels today, two Megans. It'd be easy to mix that up and I want to avoid that, as I'm sure I'll see these kids into adulthood."

"While that's honorable, don't you want to see your own kid into adulthood?" There was a twist to Angela's mouth, over to the right, and I knew that she was peeved. I shot her a look as I bit another piece and she mouthed, "Later," to me as I continued to eat, one arm holding Lily tightly to me so that she couldn't wriggle free. "Lil, didn't you want to ask Daddy something?"

"Yes!" Lily exclaimed, turning her little body around in my grip so she could sit on her knees atop my thighs. I pecked her on the cheek and wiped away the smear of pizza sauce with my free hand and she giggled frantically, her small hands coming up to pat at my cheeks. "Mommy said to ask you, but you have to say yes, okay?"

"That depends on what it is, Lil," I laughed, my eyes drifting toward _Mommy_. "I can't just agree blindly, silly girl."

"I want cookies and Mommy said that if I ate my whole piece of pizza and if you leave with us and come with, we can go get some across the street." My mind stopped, my breathing stopped, the whole damn world stopped, and when it all caught up and found itself again, I felt like I was standing on a set of railroad tracks with a gigantic freight train screaming down at me, poised to plow me down and leave nothing behind. Then, Lily poked my chin and smiled at me and I couldn't stop my mouth from saying, "Sure," even though, I wanted nothing more than to say anything and everything that opposed that. Lily cheered and bounced on her knees, before scrambling off of my lap and running over to Angela, who laughed and kissed her cheeks. I heaved a breath and shoved pizza in my mouth and prayed that the world actually, for once, possessed the ability to swallow someone whole, as the cliché goes. "Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome," I replied, a small, tight smile on my mouth, and my teeth tore another bite from the piece in my hand. I stared at my phone as it sat next to the stack of papers on my desk and tried to formulate some plan, something that would make the impending disaster go away. I swallowed down the bite in my mouth, wiped my hands, and grabbed a file, thumbed through it carelessly. "So, uh, I just have a few things that I need to finish up, so how about you two go into the waiting area and get in some playtime. I have it on good authority that there is a box of toys just waiting to be played with."

"Come on, Lil." Angela took Lily's hand and walked her to the door, patted her on the top of the head and said, "Go on ahead. I'll be right there." When Lily was gone, Angela swung the door so that it was only open a crack and she closed the distance that she'd just put between us with long strides. "Edward."

"Angela, not now, okay?" I sighed it, tried and tired. "We can talk this _to death_ over the weekend but, for now, I just need to get some of this done or I'll never be able to be home."

"When we moved here, I hoped it would bring us closer, back to what we once were." She stared absently at the floor and I couldn't dare look at her. My bleeding heart, the one that was tugged in too many directions, would surely break, if I had to see what I was already doing to her without really doing much of anything at all. "You're different." I was; I couldn't deny that, not to myself. "You're worse, somehow."

"I'm just busy, Angie," I whispered, toying with the edge of the file in my hands. I stared at the lettering on the tab, not really reading it, but trying to distract myself. "I don't mean to be worse. This is out of my hands."

"Just, try to be home more, okay? Lily needs you. I need you."

"I need you girls, too. You know that." My voice crackled, broke around the words that were intensely true. No matter what my heart was screaming at me, my head knew that I owed Angela my life, my sanity, and Lily was the keeper of my soul, my flesh and blood, and I would never not need her. I would not lie more than I had to. I owed them that much. "I'll try to do better. You deserve better."

"Don't start with the self-deprecation." She neared me, her long fingers wrapping around my wrists, and she pulled me until I stood, the file discarded on the floor. I let myself be wrapped up in her arms and as she kissed my throat, I nearly cried, my heart feeling so heavy and wrong in my chest. "I love you and I deserve nothing more than the man I know you can be. Be that man, Edward. I know he's in there."

"Okay."

Angela left me with a kiss to my brow and there, in the suffocating silence of my office, I broke into a million pieces, counted out in tears and stifled sobs against the sleeve of my coat by the door. When my eyes burned and my throat ached and the tears had run dry, I collected myself, straightened my shirt collar and sat back down at my desk, my eyes settling upon my phone. I picked it up carefully, as if it were a ticking bomb, and saw that I had two messages from Bella, which read, _Did I offend you? Hey, you're the one playing the boring version of Peeping Tom, not me. - Bella _and _Alright, well, I have to get back inside, but, yeah, sorry if I overstepped or something. Have a good night. I'll have your coffee waiting for you in the morning. - Bella_.

For a while, quite a few minutes, I sat there and tried to concoct a reply, but erased everything my thumbs had typed. _I wasn't offended. I think your snark is rather adorable. _No. _Sorry, my wife and daughter came by and I couldn't text you because you're the dirtiest secret I will ever want to have_. That wouldn't work either. _Peeping Tom? Doesn't that mostly involve nudity? _Absolutely not. I thought some more and sighed, knowing what I had to write and not liking it in the slightest. She was my shame and I was the keeper of secrets and lies and that was the reality of us.

_If you can leave, please do. If not, I'm sorry for what is about to happen. - Edward_

Feeling absolutely ill, I grabbed my coat, hit send, and walked out the door to join my wife and child for a nightcap of cookies and cake.

* * *

So, please actually read this A/N, as it's kind of verrry important.  
This fandom has given us so much – endless entertainment, great friends, a ton of memories, Rob's hands, sparkly vibrators – & it's time that we gave something back to the world. Read on &, please, if you can spare even a dollar, donate.  
Bravo to **lolashoes**, **ninapolitan**, & **tby789** for putting this together.

**The Twilight Fandom Gives Back**_  
_Did you know that every year over 200,000 children worldwide are diagnosed with a form of childhood cancer? We cannot ignore this shocking statistic impacting the youth of the world, and we certainly hope that you won't either. We need your help.  
Starting Nov. 15th, through Nov. 20th, you will have the opportunity to help in the fight against childhood cancer. We haven't set a monetary goal because we're firm in the belief that no matter what we set, you as a fandom will surpass it.  
For more information or to donate, please visit:  
**www[dot]alexslemonade[dot]org/stands/19842**

PS: Review if you'd like. My heart is _killing_ me from writing this. Thanks for sticking around.  
PPS: **stolenxsanity**, as always, keeps my comma count in check. Thank, you, so, damn, much, love.


	10. Chapter 9: Too Late, Too Soon

**Chapter Nine: Too Late, Too Soon**

**

* * *

**_Clear the way she's coming through  
With her eye-shadow of satin blue  
& her fingernails all painted new  
She's a danger you're addicted to  
_"Angela" – Missy Higgins_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

"Did they specify that we aren't allowed to eat it before they do, or is that just frowned upon across the board when it comes to wedding cakes?" Alice laughed, her fingers inching closer and closer to the four-tiered cake between us. I swatted her hand away with the end of the paintbrush that I held and quirked a brow in her direction. "What? It just looks really tasty."

"I just let you eat the remaining fruit tarts. Surely, you can't feel deprived of sugar."

"Oh, honey, I'm not deprived, I just want _more_." I shook my head as she hopped up onto the stainless steel table, her hand resting dangerously close to the base of the cake, and I swatted at her, again. Laughing, Alice moved closer, teasing, and I jabbed the end of the brush against her thumb. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not for me."

"Not for me, either. Trust me; I want to eat this thing, too." Before me sat a veritable work of art; layers upon layers of dense chocolate cake, silky raspberry buttercream, and homemade marshmallow fondant, upon which I'd spent hours painting a lush floral motif. It was elegant and delicate and it smelled absolutely divine, but my mouth had to stay closed, as I was sure the bride and groom wouldn't appreciate chunks of their cake missing on their big day. "But, alas, always the cake-maker, never the one who gets it smeared on her face, or, you know, something like that."

"I think it's 'always the bridesmaid, never the bride', but, yeah, if you want cake smeared on your—"

"Cease and desist, Mary Alice Brandon," I warned, my paintbrush pointing at her like a weapon as she reached for the bowl of leftover icing on the other side of her. She held up her hands, palms facing me, and shot me a look of pure innocence – pouting mouth, doe eyes, slightly raised brows – and I laughed as I reached across her lap and grabbed the bowl, set it on the other side of the cake, just out of her reach. "There will not be an icing fight this evening, my dear. I am in no mood to clean buttercream off of the ceiling, _again_."

"That was one time."

"It was one time too many." The creak of the front door behind me gave finality to my words and I pointed over my shoulder at it, directing Alice to don her apron and get back to work; the icing would be around later for her to devour, or threaten me with. Alice's hand gripped my finger as she hopped off of the table and I watched her mouth turn to a frown, then it opened and closed a few times, fish-like. I huffed out a breath, worn thin and tired, but I laughed anyway, knowing it was how I needed to deal with Alice. "Oh, come on. If you're going to act like that, I'll let you throw icing at me in the alleyway when we close. Go serve some coffee and let me finish this."

"Bella—"

"Alice, go—"

"No, _Bella_, just— he's—"

"Alice, spit it out. Who's—" I turned and, instantly, my eyes landed upon Edward as he strode through the café. My immediate thought upon seeing him was one of elation – a soft, tingling feeling that began at the base of my spine and traveled upwards, burned behind my eyes with warm, gentle recognition – but then I noted the small fingers of a child wrapped around his, the perfectly-manicured hand of Angela Masen, nee Weber, curled around his forearm, and the sallow color of his complexion, and I felt gut-wrenchingly nauseous. They appeared, outwardly, like the perfect, happy family, one that you would find modeling khaki in a moderately-priced fashion advertisement, white picket fence in the background as they sipped their lemonade and smiled. However, the hard set of his jaw spoke volumes of discomfort; at least, it did to me. I hoped it did. "Fuck," I whispered shakily, rising from my seat at the table. Even with her at his side, with the complete hollow discomfort coursing through me, I was drawn to him; moth to a flame, he would be my downfall. Alice's hand tugged on my finger, tried to stop me, but my feet kept at it, moving closer until I had reached the cash register, and I let a false grin work itself onto my mouth as I blandly said, "Hi, what can I get for you?"

"Isabella!" Angela chimed, my name leaving her lips in breathy syllables. Her hand moved off of Edward's arm, met her other one as she folded them together over her heart, and she let out an excited laugh, her mouth forming a wide smile. "It's been so long!" I nodded awkwardly, ground my teeth together, and Alice set her hand on my shoulder, offering to step in, but I shook it off, feeling compelled. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I told her steadily; though, I felt the bile rising in the back of my throat. "Things are good." I stole a glance at Edward, casual, and I could see the beads of sweat that had collected on his neck, dampened his collar so much that the material was darker where it met his skin. "Are you just in town visiting?"

"No, I moved back. _We_ moved, actually," she moved Edward up to the counter, a nudge to his elbow for direction, and patted her hands over his as they rested near the register. I felt my hands start to shake as I fisted them in my pockets, tried to cease the tingle of jealousy in my palms. "How rude it is of me not to have introduced you to my husband. Edward, this is Bella. Bella, Edward. We met in college; Chicago. And the quiet, little thing clutching his leg is our daughter, Lily."

"We've met," Edward added quietly and I nearly believed that I heard his voice quiver. "The cookies."

"_Yes_, the cookies!" Angela glanced over at the pastry case, the line of boxes atop it, and nodded, smiling brightly at me. "Those were you?"

"Those were me." I attached the memory of the cookies in question to Edward's admission of fantasizing about me and felt a bit of heat creep across my flesh. I smiled, feeling wanton pleasure attached to discussing such a thing with Angela; I felt sadistic, almost. A small bubble of laughter broke through the bile in my throat and I couldn't stop myself from saying, "Some people say they're good enough to fantasize about."

Edward coughed, cleared his throat as his fist came up to cover his mouth. Inwardly, I thought he was covering a gaping, shocked mouth, perhaps, a grin, but I couldn't tell, as he bowed his head and evenly said, "I don't think I've had better." I blanched and my mouth dropped open. Alice bent closer and pressed the knuckle of her forefinger beneath my chin, righting my jaw, while Edward asked pointedly, "May I have one now?"

"We don't make it a habit to hand out samples," Alice stated, filling in when my mouth wouldn't allow me to speak, mostly because her knuckle was still awkwardly digging into my skin. I watched Edward nod, his lips setting in an unreadable line, and I toed Alice's foot with mine until she removed her hand. "So, can we get you anything?"

"Oh, right," Angela said, as if she'd forgotten why she'd come by in the first place. She knelt down, making herself eye level with her offspring, and Edward took the opportunity to move his hand a little further across the counter, a little closer to me. I felt warmer, somehow, and I took my hand out of my pocket and placed it on the counter just near enough to his to feel the heat coming off of his fingertips. "Lily, what'd you want, babe?" I glanced at Angela, at Lily, and saw that they were busy pointing to the various sweets in the case, that Alice had moved over to them to assist and grant me a slice of cheated privacy. The nail of Edward's thumb bumped into mine and I closed my eyes, breathed deep and savored the illicit touch. "That one. No, the one next to it." Alice bent to retrieve whatever it was they had decided on and I withdrew my hand, shoved it back into the pocket of my jeans, and opened my eyes, let reality seep back in. I felt damned, dirty, broken, and I had to move away before I did something, said something I would regret. With my back turned to the counter and my legs beginning to move, Angela called out to me, "Bella?"

"Yes?" I froze and glanced over my shoulder, avoided looking at Edward at all costs, and gave Angela a simple smile, the only one I could manage. "Sorry, I just have a lot to get done."

"I'm sure. Delicious cookies don't just bake themselves, right?" She laughed and took a small box of them from Alice, peered into it with big eyes and a happy mouth. "We should go out or you should come over for dinner. It's been way too long. I want to coax these recipes out of you or something."

"Yeah. Maybe," I answered, noncommittal and aching to escape. "Have a good night."

"You, too." Angela gave me a smile, a little wave, and bit into a cookie she'd pulled from the box. I nodded once, giving our conversation an ending, and turned back to the kitchen, my hands extending outward to press open the door. "It was really good to see you, Bella."

"Bella, wait!" At the sound of Edward's voice, tears pricked at my eyes, and I halted, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around again. "I— The office— Emmett wanted me to— There's this birthday—"

"Did you need to place an order, Edward?" Alice asked, stepping between us – Edward hovering near the entrance to the space behind the counter, me in the doorway of the kitchen – and I could nearly hear the smile in her voice, the way the sweetness dripped off her tongue as she formulated words and plans. I heard him mutter a response and it sounded like an affirmative answer, which was confirmed by Alice's, "Well, Bella, can you take him back there with you and write up his order, while I get these ladies settled? I only have so many hands, you know, and you don't pay me to juggle." I nodded slightly and continued through the door, holding it open for Edward and releasing it once I felt the weight of it against my palm give just a bit, felt the electricity that was always swirling around him. "Thanks," Alice called after me.

"There isn't a birthday," Edward said quietly in the hollow silence of the kitchen, the door still swinging on its hinge behind us. He stepped around me, in front of me, and I shuffled my weight from foot to foot. "I just needed to talk to you alone. Bella, I'm—"

"Married, I know. Clearly, we all know. Angela introduced you as her husband, remember?"

"That's not what I was going to say, though it is true." He placed his hands on my shoulders and I tried to shrug them off, but he held firm. "I'm sorry. I was going to say that I'm sorry. Didn't you get my text message? I tried to warn you that—"

"I didn't and you shouldn't have to warn me, Edward," I sighed, letting my eyes meet his as they filled with tears. "It shouldn't hurt like this, either."

"I didn't want to hurt you. I asked you to leave, if you could. I wanted to avoid this." His hands moved from my shoulders to my neck and his thumbs found my cheeks, wiped the tears as they fell. I placed my palms flat against his chest, tried to ignore the fire in the touch, and pressed against him, pushed him away. I cast my eyes downward and moved further from the hum and burn of him as he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. I'll be fine," I said quietly, groping blindly near the sink for my cigarettes. His hand swiped them before mine could and he pulled one out, tucked it between his lips, and lit it, before handing it to me. My eyes couldn't leave his, even with the fierce sting of my tears, as I brought the cigarette to my lips and pressed mine over where his had just been. "You should really get going."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"It's okay, if you don't," I mumbled through a cloud of smoke and watched as he shook his head, his mouth a firm line.

"It's not okay for me."

In the silence of the space, I confessed to myself and the leftover static of Edward's exit, "I'm not okay," and cried quietly as I sat against the door to the walk-in cooler.

Later, after Alice had informed me that they had left, that she had closed down the place for the night, and I burned through the remainder of my cigarettes, my nerves were still raw; I was still on edge. I found peace and satisfaction in the destruction of a four-tiered wedding cake. Alice watched in horror as I threw it against the wall, a line of icing escaping with the impact and stringing itself across the ceiling. The chocolate, raspberry, fondant mess that covered the bulk of the area behind the counter was no longer a masterpiece, but it did resemble the way that my heart felt; broken, bleeding, and something I would have to try to reassemble in the morning.

* * *

I cannot thank you enough for the support & kind words. Trust me; _I know_ this is hard to read. It's horrible to write, but I feel compelled. That's why I'm here, why I'm putting myself through this. It's required for me. It isn't for you; so, for you to put your hearts on the line, like you have, that's just amazing. I appreciate every last one of you.  
Now, that wasn't as bad as you anticipated, right? I went easy on you.

Big hugs to **rhpsfaerie** for telling me that eye level is not eyelevel & pointing out my comma fail.

**Now, things that matter:  
I'm going to be participating in the Author Auction for The Fandom Gives Back.  
For the low price of $25.00, I'll write you a one-shot, minimum of 5,000 words.  
I'll write you anything you want. I'll even go against my beliefs & write fluff, make Rosalie a main character, will actually include Jacob in a fic. Really. I draw the line at rape & abuse, but, yeah, other than that, it's fair game, kids.  
I've chosen to make it first come, first serve; if you want it, have your money in hand on the 15****th****, when the fun begins.  
&, well, if you don't want me, there are plenty of other authors up for auction, so **_**please, please, please**_** snatch someone up or just donate for the hell of it.  
www[dot]thefandomgivesback[dot]com**


	11. Chapter 10: Stumbling Through the Dark

**Chapter Ten: Stumbling Through the Dark  


* * *

**_You won't recognize my own complexion  
Or my voice on the phone  
You know the answer to your question  
You know you're better off alone  
It's true, you look at me like I'm a criminal  
Well, I ain't a criminal  
I'm just not in love with you  
_"Criminal" – Trey Lockerbie_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

Lily had been asleep for nearly three hours before Angela came down the stairs and joined me at the kitchen table. I sat there, waiting; my head in my hands as my mouth hovered slacken over an untouched glass of room temperature water. Slightly moving my strained neck, I glanced over at her as she seated herself to my right and flattened her palms against the wood grain of the table. Her mouth twisted, pinched, and her eyes watched her fingers; I returned to the cold blankness I'd been swimming in, the lids of my eyes feeling rather heavy.

"Edward, we need to talk about this," she said after a while and my heartbeat increased substantially, fearful that she might have been referring to Bella. I felt heat and currents and waves of electricity, lightening bright enough to be seen for miles, and, maybe, she could feel it, too, even without it directed toward her. This was the storm. "You need to be home more."

"Angela," I sighed, curling my fingers into my hair. I tugged the strands as I sighed again, heaved air out of my lungs, and watched as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth; that always meant sadness would follow. "I need to be home, yes, but I need to work, too, so I can keep this home."

"You're doing it, again," she said quietly, her eyes shifting to meet mine for the briefest of moments; I saw pain and sorrow, the darkest days of agony. "You get like this."

"I _am_ like this," I spat, my fingers curling harder, the tips of my nails scraping against my scalp. "I've never been okay. I have moments, yes, and you have shouldered more than your share of the bad ones, but I've never been good."

"It's in there, I think. You're not a shell."

"You've never known me any other way."

"That's a lie." Angela stood and placed her warm hand on the back of my neck, her thumb stroking over my spine. I shivered, not from her touch, but from the depths we had managed to fall to. When her lips brushed against my temple, the tears rolled from my eyes and navigated themselves downward, over my cheeks to my jaw. "I saw it the day Lily was born." She crouched beside me, one arm resting on the table near my elbow, and I turned in the opposite direction, clenched my eyes shut as hard as I could in hopes that I could keep the tears locked away. "You think I don't know, but I do." At that, I turned and faced her, saw the complete stoicism woven into her eyes and I sobbed openly, my hands falling to my thighs, mouth poised to spew apologies. "I know that this was nothing more than a relationship of convenience, in a way, and, if it weren't for Lily, I don't think you'd still be around." I gasped, choked in air and then let it sputter out through my gaping mouth, beads of spit and tears leaving my lips with each huffing breath. "I don't mind because I love you and I want you near and when it's good, Edward, when we're good, there's nothing better in the world. That's why I'm still here."

"I love you," I cried, my head falling forward against her, pressing hard against her clavicle. She cradled the back of my head with both of her hands and pulled me to her; we sunk to the floor in a heap, my body awkwardly crushing down upon hers. I didn't say it because it fit or felt right; I said it because it was true, even with Bella in the equation. "I love you."

"I don't doubt that, but you're not in love with me. You never have been." Angela extricated herself from beneath my body, my heaving cries, and quietly rose to her feet. Looking down on me, physically and metaphorically, she sighed, "Stop burying yourself, digging your own grave. I just want you to be better, if not for you or me, then for Lily."

Angela left me alone on the floor of the kitchen, a broken man with broken sobs; I stayed there, curled against myself, until the tears ran dry. Slowly, piece by piece, I picked myself up off the floor, dragged my body up to hands and knees, and then drew myself up against the table. I felt weak and empty as I stared out the small kitchen window at the street lamp; dim light in the dark, I felt that Bella could fill my voids and breathe life. Grasping my phone from my pocket, I dialed Bella's number as I moved in slow motion to the front door and let it close softly behind me as the phone rang in my ear.

"Edward, I can't—"

"Bella, please—"

"It's late." Her voice was strained, dry, and I knew that, somehow, I was the reason for that. "I have a lot to do in the morning. Earlier tonight was enough pain. Don't give me more."

"Angela knows." I heard her gasp, a short stutter to her sighs and words, and I sat on the porch steps, a palm pressed against my forehead. "I didn't think she did, but she does."

"We haven't done anything, Edward. You don't have—"

"I don't mean about us."

"Edward, I'm so sorry." Her tone had changed; it was soft and warm, laden with understanding, recognition. "Where are you?"

"On my porch."

"Would you rather be on my porch, instead?" I contemplated her question, knew that nothing good would come of it, but my legs moved and I walked and ended up with my hand on the door of my car. "Never mind, I don't think we—"

"Give me directions. I'll be right there."

Six turns and five minutes later, I pulled up to Bella's house. It was white, glowing in the light of the moon, with blue trim and a wraparound porch, upon which Bella sat with her phone in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. She stood when I started across her lawn, the dead leaves of fall crunching beneath my feet and cracking the heavy silence of the night.

"Come here." She tucked her cigarette behind her ear, pocketed her phone, and extended her arms. Before I could decline or process, they had wrapped around my middle and I was being pulled to her. I arched, bent, and laid my head atop hers, a fresh bevy of tears escaping from my eyes as my hands fisted the back of her coat. "It'll be okay."

"It won't. I can't—"

"Come, sit with me and tell me what happened."

The porch at Bella's house looked a lot like mine, in the basic sense. We had the same weathered wooden floor boards, the same whitewashed banister, except hers had characteristics of a home. Mine was bare; Bella's had a porch swing, some potted plants, and coasters on an end table. She sat on one end of the swing and patted the other end, gently; I sat and stared at the floor as her hand danced like fire across my back, a wash of comfort in the burn.

"Moving here was supposed to fix things," I started, my throat scratching out the words. "We were going to get a fresh start. I was going to be the husband I vowed to be."

"I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't. I did." I raked both of my hands through my hair and leaned back into the seat, my head lolling backwards and resting against the paneling of her house. In my periphery, she lit the cigarette that had been cast aside and pulled her knees to her chest, turned to face me on the bench. "I've been drifting. My whole life, I've been waiting for my life to start." A plume of smoke wafted between us and I reached over to pinch the cigarette between my fingers. I took a drag, long and deep, and returned it to her. "I smoked in college, quit when Lil was born."

"I've never quit, but everyone tells me I should," she offered, her voice quiet, raspy on the edges. "Drifting isn't a bad thing."

"I've only gone through the motions of life, never actually lived it. I promised myself I would once I moved here." She passed the cigarette back to me, but I declined, laced my hands together in my lap, instead. "I made all these promises, these vows, and I never believed in them. I believed they were what I wanted, so I should believe, but I could never bring myself to live up to them. I set structure when I moved here, had done so, minimally, back in Chicago, and, then, it all just got turned around."

"I know it's entirely vain to ask, but, was it me?"

"In part." I turned to face her and she reached across the space to fold one of her hands between mine. I ignited at her touch. "I thought I could be happy with Angela, if I gave it my all. I still think I could be, but, also, I think something might always be missing there. I'm not saying you're that piece, that you complete me, but it feels like you could."

"It's barely been a week." My thumbs rubbed across the skin of her wrist and she stared at the motion, the shadows of her lashes fluttering upon her cheeks. "You don't even know my last name."

"Tell me; tell me everything."

"I don't think that's for the best." Slowly, she moved her hand from my grasp and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. I folded my hands tighter together to try to outweigh the absence. "You moved here for a fresh start. Keep your promises. If you wanted to leave her, you would've done so long ago."

"I need her. I owe her. I've told you."

"I know." There was no strain to her voice, just the two dull words of agreement.

"But, I need you, too."

"I know." They were different, breathier, and it, too, sounded like an agreement, but of a dissimilar kind.

"I haven't had sex with her since I've met you." I was a lot, more than I should've said, but I felt like she should know. I watched her, the controlled mask of her face, and I nodded, my eyes closing. "It just feels wrong." I shifted on the bench and ran my fingertip over the exposed flesh of her wrist that peeked out between her pocket and sleeve. She shivered, as I thought she would. "You feel that, don't you?"

"You're touching me."

"Not that." I did it again, slower, and loved the burn that settled in the tip of my finger. I watched her eyes narrow in recognition and she ducked her head to hide her demure smile. "_That_."

"Go home, Edward." It was a whisper and it sounded oddly like, _please stay_. "Even if your marriage is strained, it's still a marriage. Go be with her. Get through this."

"How can you say that?" With my skin upon hers, even a small fingertip to flesh, I could not believe she could have the strength to deny it. I pressed the pad of my finger hander against her skin, moved until my whole hand curled around her wrist and pulled her hand from her pocket. Palm to palm, I set the world ablaze. "Do you really want me to go?"

"Do you really want to stay?" Hushed, a whisper; I thought it might be what she would sound like with the press of my body between her legs. "Go."

"You're always saying that to me."

"It's because I'm afraid of what will happen if you don't."

I left and called Emmett, made his couch my bed for the night, and all the while that I slept, I dreamt that I had stayed.

* * *

Please review, if you're feeling up to it, even if it's just to tell me that I'm a horrible person for allowing you to embrace your inner masochist.  
Also, this went up unbetaed, so please excuse the excess commas & whatnot.


	12. Chapter 11: Sympathy

**Chapter Eleven: Sympathy**

**

* * *

**_So I'll take two of what you're having  
& I'll take all of what you got  
To kill this goddamn lonely, goddamn lonely love  
_"Goddamn Lonely Love" – Drive-By Truckers_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

The day had been long, drawn, and the clock on the wall above the door hadn't even made it to noon, yet. Edward hadn't arrived across the street, his parking spot bare, and I had three cups of coffee. My every nerve stood on end, empty shocks and too much to take. I nodded to Alice as the flow of customers stemmed and she waved me off, her pout indicative of sympathy. Cigarette in hand, I headed through the kitchen for the back door, unable to stand out front and be taunted by the lack of his vehicle. As I lit my smoke, I pulled my phone from my apron pocket and my stomach pitched oddly as I noticed that I had a missed call and, furthermore, that it was from Edward. Without bothering to listen to the voicemail he'd left, I returned the call and tapped my toe against the gravel as I waited for him to answer.

"You called me back," he said, his voice scratchy. I wasn't sure what he sounded like when first awakened and I'd probably never know, but, if I had to imagine, it would've sounded something like the scrape that came across the line. I smiled at the imaginary sight of rumpled hair and downturned blankets and took a long drag of my cigarette as he continued, "Did you listen to my message?"

"I didn't. I'm hasty. How are you?"

"I've been better." There was something so broken in his words, that it made my smile fade and my heart pang. "I'm not there."

"I'm aware. Is that why you called?"

"You would know why I called, if you listened to my message." He tried to laugh, but coughed instead, and I no longer found the grind of his vocal chords endearing. "Clearly, I'm ill."

"Are you home?"

"They say that home is where the heart—"

"Stop it," I huffed, smoke pouring out of my nostrils like a raging cartoon bull. I took in another drag, licking my lips as I listened to his even breathing, just waiting for retaliation, a debate. "I'm willing to bet the cause of this illness is stress. What do you think, doc?"

"I don't know."

"Are you home?" I shook my head and laughed humorlessly. "No, you're not home. You wouldn't be calling me, if you were. Where are you?"

"Emmett let me stay at his place last night. When I woke up with a fever this morning, he made me stay put."

"Have you called Angela?" I hated myself for asking, but I was trying to do right by everyone in the situation, even if it meant sacrificing my immediate happiness. "She must be worried out of her mind."

"She left me to cry, alone, on the kitchen floor last night. Do you really presume she's worried about my whereabouts?"

As the words left his mouth, Angela, flesh and blood irony, rounded the corner into the alleyway. I fumbled, depressed the button to end the call at a rapid pace, and pocketed the phone, my pulse racing. I would call him back and explain, if my heart didn't fail, first. She gave me a smile, one that quickly broke into a frown, and paused a few feet from me.

"Alice said you were out here." I nodded and she moved closer; we both leaned against the side of my truck and I tried not to dig my fingernails into the metal frame. "Look, I know we lost touch and all, but we were really good friends for a really long time." She slumped and I knew, then, that whatever this was, it wasn't about me; her posture was too languid for anger. "I just kind of need someone to talk to and I don't really have anyone anymore."

"I, uh—"

"I knew this was a terrible idea," she sighed, staring up at the sky as tears started to roll down her cheeks. She sniffled, her gloved hands brushing at the cascading tears, and meekly offered, "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Angela, it's okay." I said the words quietly and tried to fill them with meaning, but they came out hollow, dry. I puffed a final drag from my cigarette and threw the butt against the ground, grinding it out with my boot as I moved nearer to her. "We were good friends."

"I'm having troubles with my husband." And there it was; our communal open wound. "He doesn't love me."

"That's—" I was stunned, shocked, and seemingly in an alternate universe, one where my lungs failed to work and my mouth could do nothing other than hang agape. It wasn't news, but to hear it from her, I hadn't been prepared for that. She whimpered and sat down on the open tailgate of my truck, the same place her husband had been days before, and I gingerly sat beside her, my breathing labored. "I—"

"I know."

"If he doesn't love you, why—"

"Why am I with him?" She shrugged as she completed my thought, her mouth breaking out into a wry smile. "Because, I'm pathetic." I fumbled another cigarette out of the pack in my apron pocket and lit it with noticeably shaking hands; if Angela hadn't been staring at nothing, tears streaming down her face, she would've spotted my guilt. "He's never loved me, not in the way I've loved him. I'm a fixer and he's always been broken, but I don't think I can fix him anymore. I don't think I want to." She sighed and I glanced over at her slumped shoulders and her trembling mouth. "He didn't come home last night and it, kind of, felt right being alone."

"Are you saying that you're going to leave him?"

"No, I couldn't— I— Our daughter, she needs him and I don't want her raised half here, half there, with two Christmases and two birthdays, a new Mommy down the road or a replacement Daddy." She shook her head and looked over at me as I puffed furiously on my cigarette, biting my nails between each drag. "Plus, you know my father. He'd disown me, if I got divorced." I nodded, recalling her minister father and her prim and proper upbringing. How could I ever wrong such a good and decent person? I hadn't, couldn't, but feared that I would, regardless. "I can't leave and I can't stay."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"I've been talking to myself about it for years, aloud; he's never listened."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Her tears had begun to slow, dripping with finality as the remainder of them left her cheeks via her glove. She looked over at me, a pathetic excuse for a smile on her mouth, and I could see the depths of paramount sadness in her eyes. I wanted to hug her; I wanted to hate her. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stood, began pacing the alleyway behind my truck. "I can see I've made you uncomfortable," she started, rising. I stilled and leaned against the building, unable to come up with words for her. "It's okay. Thank you for listening."

I didn't call after her as she walked off, her arms hanging limply beside her as she trudged across the gravel, but I thought that, maybe, I should have. For years, I called her my best friend and, now, somehow, I'd built her up in my mind as my enemy, simply because fate had given her Edward and, because it did so, kept him from me. I kicked at the gravel, listened as it smacked against the hard side of the building, and frowned, flopping back down upon the tailgate and reaching for my phone.

He picked up on the first ring, "It's not nice to hang up on—"

"Your wife was here." I spat the words at him, the awkward anger that had collected as a lump in my throat spilling out with the words. I sighed, raked my hands through my hair as I shouldered the phone, and took in a few deep breaths as he sputtered incoherencies. "We were friends, Edward. We were fucking friends and I feel like I'm betraying her."

"You? _You_ feel like you're betraying her?" His voice rose, crackling, and I let the tears come. "I'm _married_ to her, Bella."

"You think I don't know that?" Quiet and numb, I whispered the words. He breathed heavily, hard into my ear across the line and I sniffled, my fingertips swiping at my eyes. "We talked; she came to me. She told me you don't love her."

"Why does it sound like you're on her side? You're always pushing. I want you to pull."

"I'm not going to be the reason you leave her, Edward."

"You want to be the reason why I stay?"

"I don't want to be a factor, at all." Resigned, I sighed and lay back against the cold metal bed of my truck, the grey clouds above me blurring through my watery eyes. He left the moment alone, didn't fight back and, instead, he matched my sigh with one of his own, equal in weight and meaning. "This is such a mess."

"I didn't mean for it to escalate to this." His voice held sorrow, but it didn't sound sorry. "I didn't—"

"It hasn't even gone anywhere, Edward." My thumb grazed the skin of my wrist, the skin his fingers had warmed the night before, and I chewed my lower lip as my eyes continued to give way to tears. "We haven't— But, it's like we don't have to, like we have already."

"It's been quick."

"Too quick."

"Maybe there's meaning behind that." I didn't reply, just took in his words and cried in the bed of my truck, and he took to hushing me over the line, warm whispers and quiet words. "Bella, I need to see you."

"No," I whimpered the word, knowing it was my enemy, but that it was what had to be said. "You need to see her, first. I won't do this. You can't force me to do this."

"This? What is _this_ that you think I'm forcing you into?" His tone was raised and sharp and I wished I could have been with him in that moment, so that I could've grabbed his wrists and smacked his face and pushed him against a wall. He wanted me to define the overwhelming sadness that pierced my heart, wanted declarations, and I couldn't. "What? Do you want me to say it?" I tried to tell him not to, but it came out as a cry and nothing more. "I should be with you. I want to be with you."

"You're married."

"Stop saying that."

"Stop giving me reasons to remind you." I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose, tried so hard to stop myself from giving in. "I'm trying to be a good person, to do the right thing."

"You act like you don't want me, Bella. You act like you don't feel it. You—"

"I can't do this, anymore."

I hung up on him, his words of protest halting unnaturally as I ended the call, and stared at the sky until my tears stopped and my eyes closed. Shivering, but numb, I fell asleep in the bed of my truck, unable to care if the wind carried me far, far away. I almost prayed that it would.

* * *

I love your reviews, because they all seem to go a little something like this:  
_I love this, but I hate it. You're not a horrible person, but my heart is killing me. I want to stop reading, but I can't.  
_Nothing is more flattering than knowing I possess the ability to destroy your hearts & have you come back for more.  
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Also, to stem the heartache — or maybe worsen it, depending on who you are — the next chapter brings us back to the prologue. You've been warned.

If you're interested in purchasing one of my 5,000+ word one-shots for $25.00 for **The Fandom Gives Back Author Auction**, you can do so starting on November 15th at the link below.  
I'm sure I'll remind you again in another update prior to the start date, 'cause I'm obnoxious like that.  
**thefandomgivesback[dot]proboards[dot]com/index[dot]cgi?board=fic&action=display&thread=29**


	13. Chapter 12: Kiss Catastrophe

**Chapter Twelve: Kiss Catastrophe  


* * *

**_So, come on, surrender to this here pretender  
For once in your life  
Don't dare consider a cold, hungry shiver  
'Cause I'm your fire tonight  
_"You Don't Have to Like Me to Love Me" – The Damnwells_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

I didn't remember driving, or walking, but I found myself in the alleyway behind the café, looking down at Bella's snow-soaked, trembling body as I stood above her in the bed of her truck. My hands shook with equal fervor, but not from the cold, the snow; no, they quaked with the fear that she had meant her final words to me, that they were, in fact, the end of us. I crouched beside her, my hands drawn to her icy cheeks, and I watched her eyelids flutter open, the deep sense of confusion settling into her stare.

"Tell me you didn't mean it," I begged, pulling her close to me. She was heavier than I imagined she would be, her clothes soaked and cold, weighing her down. Her lips chattered and her breath stuttered and none of her words mattered anymore because I feared that, if I hadn't gotten there in time, she wouldn't have any more words to share ever again. "You're drenched, freezing. What the hell were you thinking?" I didn't expect a reply, simply gathered her up in my arms and carried her to the warmth and waiting safety of my car – the one I'd, apparently, left idling in the street. "I'm taking you to your house."

She didn't move, speak, and I drove, a hand on her arm the whole time, feeling fire and ice beneath her skin, a pale, poor replica of our electricity. When I pulled into her driveway, surprised that I had managed to find it, I quickly turned off the car and went to collect her, eager to have her body in my arms, to help her find life again. As I pulled her out of the car and held her tightly to me, her arms found my neck, a weak hold but meaningful grip, and I hastily carried both of us to her front door.

"Unlocked," she whispered, her teeth clattering together with the force of her shiver. I covered her lips with the pad of my thumb, begging her not to expend energy on things such as words and wishing it were lips upon lips and a better circumstance, and then removed it to twist the handle of the door. "I'm—"

"Save it. Let me get you warmed up, first, and then you can yell at me for my unwanted heroics, okay?"

I carried her up the stairs, noticing that her home followed, pretty much, the same layout as mine. I moved down the hall to the same room that I shared with Angela in my own home, ignored the pitch of _something_ in my stomach, and went straight for the bathroom, setting her on the counter and turning the water on in the shower, praying it would heat itself to lukewarm rapidly. When a soft steam filled the room, fogged the corners of the mirror, I picked her up again and walked us both into the shower, pulling her back against me as I sat us in the basin. The water pelted us, soaked our already drenched clothes, and I felt her body slacken against mine.

"You're—You're a doctor," she said awkwardly, choppy words and still-chattering lips. "You're a doctor. You were supposed to take off my clothes." I laughed through a sigh of relief, pleased that her wits were about her. She turned slowly, my legs still straddling her body, and she curled against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin, and I tried to tell myself it was just for warmth. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and smiled up at the showerhead, elated and foreign. "No clothes or dry clothes."

"Given our situation, I figured this would be the best way to treat hypothermia." I pulled her a bit harder against me, greedy, and one of her hands curled around my wrist. We sat that way for a while, until my warmth faded, transferred to her, and the color returned to her cheeks. "I'm going to step out and grab you some clothes, if that's okay."

"My pajamas are in the top drawer of the dresser in the closet." With my assistance, Bella got to her feet, then bent to grab a bottle of shampoo from the side of the tub and I had to force myself to leave, to not twist my hands into her hair and kiss her skin as the water rained down on us. I closed the curtain behind me and tried not to drip all over her bathroom floor, which seemed impossible. "There should be a pair of sweatpants in there that'll fit you, too."

"Don't look. I'm going to—I don't want to get your carpet wetter than it already is." I stripped off my clothes and left them in the sink, grabbed a towel from the rack by the door, and wrapped it around my waist. When Bella discarded her clothing overtop the curtain rod and they landed beside me on the floor with a heavy slap, my erection jutted out noticeably against the striped cotton towel, and I mumbled, "I'll leave your clothes in here and then wait in the bedroom."

After fitting my legs into a pair of nondescript black sweat pants that were just a bit too short, I selected the softest t-shirt in the drawer and a warm-looking pair of much smaller sweatpants and, as promised, set them in the bathroom on the counter, all the while trying not to memorize the scent of her clothing. In her room, I sat on her bed and tried to will away my erection by taking stock of the décor – warm wood tones, crème-colored paint, a photograph of birds above her queen-size bed, the plush armchair in the corner, the stack of books beside it – and tried not to rummage through her things, find her secrets before she would give them to me. Before long, Bella emerged from the bathroom, a weak smile on her lips and her hair wrapped in a towel. Wordlessly, she moved around the room, lighting an array of candles, even though the sparse daylight still filtered through her half-drawn curtains, and she grabbed a sweater from the closet, but left it at the foot of the bed. As she sat beside me, she let her hair down and raked her hands through it, her big brown eyes focused on me.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know where my mind went."

"I can't lose you."

"I wasn't going to die, Edward." She laughed as if the idea were completely foreign, foolish and twisted her hair into a knot, her hands then slapping at my arm in an almost playful, silly manner. "Eventually, Alice would've come looking for me, beat me with a pastry bag or—"

"That's not what I meant." Bella heaved out a breath and stood, moved to the other side of the bed and curled herself beneath the sheets. "That's probably a good idea, blankets. I'm a horrible health care professional." I shifted to face her and was shocked, heartbroken, when I saw that tears had filled her eyes. "Why are you—"

"I, really, can't do this, Edward." At her words, the same ones that had forced me to her only an hour earlier, I laid beside her and fought the urge to pull her to me, even though she was, again, pushing. "You're so intense, this situation—it's all so very serious and devastating." I didn't know what to say as her tears fell, dripped, so I took up her hands in mine and kissed the backs of them, hoping that would outweigh the pain, instead of make it more severe. "Then, there's that. How can I ignore that?" She sighed it, nearly wistful in the sound, and I laced our fingers together; she didn't withdraw. "I can't ignore it."

She shifted onto her side, facing me fully, and I had to have her nearer. I pulled her to me, my hands over her shirt on her back beneath the blanket, and I felt my heart clench, twist in agony. "I can't ignore it, either," I whispered roughly against her hair and relished the way her hot, uneven breaths hit my neck. "I have to, though."

"You choose to," she whispered and I felt the sob in her chest. "I can't have you, because you won't let me."

"Are you asking me to leave her?" It was barely audible, but I knew she heard me, understood me, even though my voice crackled with torn, bitter pain. "I—"

"I'm asking you not to break my heart."

"What is it about you, Bella?" My hands found the supple, pallid skin of her lower back and laced together there, quaking with the electric current that traversed our skin. Her eyes closed slowly, tears dripping upon her lashes, glimmering in the flickering candlelight, and I kissed the lids, a whispered touch of agony, knowing that my mouth was forbidden from meeting hers. Tender, her delicate hand found the rough plane of my cheek and I pressed into it, turned my mouth against her palm, kissing to try to sway her to open her eyes. More tears fell, dripped down her cheeks and onto the pillow between us, and my chest tightened, smoldered, the knowledge of what I was putting her though too weighty for my mortal heart. "I want you."

"You don't know what you want."

She was correct, I knew she was, but, here and now, in this bed, in this instant, with my hands about her waist and her tears fracturing my heart, I wanted my words to be true, more than anything. So, I said them yet again, my eyes stinging with tears to mirror hers, as the words cracked in my throat, spilled from my lips in a bare whisper, "I want _you_," and I pressed my mouth to hers, knowing that the inferno of Hell would certainly consume me for doing so.

"We can't—"

"Bella, I _want _to. I want you." I licked at her lower lip softly until she caved and opened her mouth to mine with a whimper. I savored the feel of her soft tongue brushing against mine, the taste that was unique to only her, and when she moaned into my mouth, her pleasure reverberating against my teeth, I leaned against her and pressed her back to the bed. Covering her body with mine, I settled a hand on her hip, another on her dampened cheek, and kissed her fully, passionate and lingering. I was a flame, licking at her soft and sweet, and she let us burn. "Bella," I whispered against her top lip, her tongue running along my bottom one, and she pulled back. I stared down at her, transfixed by her beauty, and pressed a delicate kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I've never—"

"I know." She wove her fingers into my hair and tugged, pulled my mouth to hers, and I let myself be swayed. She took her time exploring my mouth, her tongue dancing across teeth and lips, my tongue, before she turned her head and wiped her mouth slowly with the side of her hand; I nuzzled my face against her neck and littered kisses there, sucked the soft skin. "We can't ignore this."

"I didn't want it to be like this," I told her honestly, my mouth pressing delicately against the hollow of her neck as I spoke. "I am not this man."

"Be the man you want to be, then." Her hands held my face, slid down to my neck as I gave her my mouth again. "Be with me."

"I can't be without you."

* * *

Just because we're back to the prologue, that doesn't mean we're anywhere near the end.  
Did it happen in the context that you thought it would?  
Are you pissed as all hell that he did it with a ring on his finger?


	14. Chapter 13: Secondhand Heart

**Chapter Thirteen: Secondhand Heart  


* * *

**_Love leaves you no choice in the matter  
& there ain't a damn thing sadder than a man  
in the throes of something real  
The woman that lays down beside you,  
she can't help or hide you  
It don't matter how she wants to feel  
_"No Choice in the Matter" – Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

Being back to the land of black, empty sleep was oddly comforting, normal, but even as I slept with nothing behind my eyes, I was aware of his presence, the sure weight of his arms as they crossed my body and held me to him. He was soft and warm, a blanket in his own right, and the press of his limbs over me was comforting. As I awoke, I expected to still find them there, but my body was cold, naked of his flesh, and I ran my hands slowly over the fabric of my shirt, where the memory of his arms hung like a ghost.

"I'm here." I sat up slowly at the sound of his voice, giving my aching body time to adjust to the pull of movement, and saw him sitting in my armchair in the corner, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a closed book in his lap. I smiled warmly, admired the tousled quality of his hair and took pride in knowing that my fingers had crafted it that way. He scowled and stacked the book atop the pile beside him; my stomach pitched, waited for reality. "That was incredibly stupid of me."

"Yeah," I agreed distantly, though, the word was false. "We shouldn't—I'm sorry that I—"

"Not that." His hand moved slowly to his mouth and he let his index finger glide along his chapped lower lip as it gave way to the beginnings of a smile. My body was in motion, then, at his modicum of approval, and my lips ached to have his again. He held me at arm's length as I approached and then pulled me against him, to his lap, and kissed the top of my head. "I meant playing Superman in Frosty the Snowman weather, when I'm already under the weather. It was foolish and I feel worse, now. Don't kiss me."

"The damage is already done, I'm afraid. You have no fewer germs now, than you did before my nap." Craning my neck, I lightly pressed my lips against his and he was slow to respond, but eventually, his mouth slid against mine. He pulled away abruptly, his face turned away from me, and I pouted as he coughed against the inside of his elbow. "Poor baby. Chicken soup?"

I left him in the bedroom, his weary head resting upon my pillow, and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, where I pulled two cans of chicken soup out of the cabinet and went to work at heating them up. While I waited, I sat upon the countertop and stretched my limbs, feeling the shallow ache of an oncoming illness. Whether it came from Edward's mouth or my poor decision to sleep outdoors, it wasn't far off. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the cabinets and let myself be lulled by the gentle hum of the microwave.

"Bella?" I opened my eyes to find Edward standing before me, his body so very close to being between my legs. I hooked my ankles behind his back as I came to and grinned against his neck, my eyelids heavy. "You fell asleep while microwaving soup? Clearly, neither one of us is functional today." He reached around me to the microwave and grabbed the bowls, sipping from one slowly as he smiled. "I've got these. Get down. It's back to bed for you, lady."

"Yes, sir."

In my bedroom, we sat on opposite sides of the bed, facing each other, and drank our soup from the bowls. It was, for me, rather uncomfortable because I was allowed time to think and the air between us seemed both electric and stifling, all at once. I finished first, my insides warm, but my body still aching, and set the bowl on the nightstand. He watched me and I felt his stare, but I laid back against the bed, eyes to the ceiling, instead of meeting it. Maybe I was simply tired, but a frown formed on my lips and I couldn't stop it.

"You're somber." He reached over my body and placed his bowl within mine, the clatter of the porcelain hitting together in a welcome break to the silence. With his hands free, he wrapped them around me and pulled me to him, and I did not disagree with his touch or his words, merely nodded. "You are. Why?"

"This isn't real."

"This is the realest thing I've ever experienced."

"That's your fever talking," I said and laid a hand against his chest, a subtle push beneath my fingers, but he moved closer, instead of away. "What about tomorrow? What happens tomorrow? What happens tonight?" Edward sighed, loud and telling, and I felt my insides winding themselves up in anger. "Exactly."

"I—"

"You will go back to your wife. You will smile and apologize and pretend that you weren't in my bed, pressed against my body. You will continue to make yourself miserable and for what? Why? So that your daughter can resent you both for 'staying together for the kid' when she's able to recognize what's gone on?" As I spoke, I leaned away from him, got to my knees on the bed and found myself shoving his shoulder in provocation. His hands moved quickly and wrapped around my wrists, held them still against my bent knees. I looked down at them and scoffed, knowing that if he was holding my hands, he couldn't hold my tongue, and I certainly wouldn't. "And then, there's me. What will I do? I'm wrecked and ruined and I barely even know a damn thing about you, except that you leave sparks on my tongue and my heart aches—it fucking _aches_—when you're not here. But, what can I do? I'll wait for whatever bits of you that you'll allow me to have and I'll pine and I'll say no to other men and I'll think that _maybe_ one day you'll leave her, but you won't, and I'll realize it far too late."

"Bella—"

"No. No, Edward. This is what it is, what it will be. I'm the other woman and she never gets a happy end." Hot tears soaked equally hot cheeks and I bit my lip to stifle the aching cry in my throat. "I—I never should have given in."

"You would give that back? Is that what you're telling me?" His voice was loud, booming, and his fingers pinched uncomfortably into the skin of my wrists; I nearly preferred the suffocating silence. "Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"It meant _everything_ to me." I spat the words at him and he looked as if he'd been slapped, his head bowed and angled away from me. Minutes passed in silence and when he looked up at me, there were weighty tears rimming his eyes. His fingers faltered and my hands found his cheeks and there was no more anger to be had in my touch. "We can't do this like this, Edward," I whispered. "You have to do something or you have to let me go."

"Okay," he said after a while, his head nodding in my hands. "I'll—I'll talk to her in the morning. Please, don't make me let go of you tonight."

"This can't be a snap decision, Edward. I know you know that, but I don't want you to resent me, to think that I _made_ you leave her."

"It's been a long time coming." I fitted my body alongside his and stroked his hair as he cried, sporadic tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. I wanted to kiss his mouth and tell him everything would be okay, but it seemed too out of place and unwanted, improper. Instead, I kissed his chest over his shirt, and waited for the tears to stem. When they did, he whispered, "I should call her."

"Maybe, but do you—"

"I should. She's probably worried and, even though I have my intentions clear, I still can't bring myself to hurt her."

"You don't think leaving is going to hurt?"

"It will, for a little while, but it's for the best."

My hand folded with his, we walked down the stairs, blankets on our shoulders, and I lit a cigarette on the porch as he walked to his car to retrieve his phone. He waited until he was seated beside me on the porch swing to dial her number and I noticed that he hadn't a single missed call; she still didn't miss him. I stroked his arm absently and stared at the distant, cloud-covered sunset as I smoked, tried not to listen intently enough to hear the ringing against his ear.

"Well, I was—Calm down," I half-listened to him say and I watched the way creases folded across his forehead. His hand gripped mine tightly and his head dropped back to lean against the side of my house. He was being reamed, of that I was sure, for even though I couldn't hear her words, I could hear the strength and volume behind them as they came across the line. "Angela, I can explain, if you'll just stop—" He was silent, but she wasn't, and I sucked hard on my cigarette, trying to let the way the smoke danced in the air distract me. "Are you done? Good. I'll be at Emmett's tonight, as I was last night. I'll be home in the morning and we can—" His brows knitted together and his eyes closed as he listened to her response, the one that had cut him short, then, with a swallow and a nod, he pressed the button to end the call.

I leaned over, my cigarette discarded, and pressed a kiss against his jaw, hoping to cease a bit of the pain he was feeling, but he was frozen, did not melt or mold beneath my touch.

After a bit, a while, he looked over at me with hard, narrow eyes, a distant quality to them, and hollowly said, "She told me not to bother." He swallowed and looked at me more clearly, his eyes more in focus, and I rubbed the palms of his hands with my thumbs. "She told me not to bother coming home."

"It might be better that way," I told him quietly.

"I need to talk to her, to explain that—"

"Let her have this, Edward. If you're so worried about harming her, hurting her, let her be the one to end things; let her walk away with some pride." I kissed his hands and pulled him against me, his body awkwardly bent as he leaned upon my shoulder. "It might hurt less this way." I listened to his breaths as they hitched, then evened, hitched again, and I felt my toes go slightly numb from the cold around the same time a shiver ran across Edward's skin. "Come on; let's go inside."

His hands wrapped around me as he slept, but they didn't feel the same. They felt shaken, somehow, as if they were out of place, indecisive, and I prayed that they would right themselves soon. I stared at him until sunrise and hoped that his hands were the only things that had changed, that his resolve held firm, because I never wanted hands more than his and he couldn't take them away now. It was too late for leaving; I could not let him go.

* * *

It's a bit short, I know, but everything that needed to be in here is here. **rhpsfaerie** suggested more cutesy kitchen time, but I just—no.  
Also, I know a lot of you hate that Bella smokes in this, & mention it every time I have her light up, but it serves a purpose. She'll quit later on; I promise.  
How are your hearts feeling now?


	15. Chapter 14: The Wreckage

**Chapter Fourteen: The Wreckage  


* * *

**_Storm clouds are gathering outside & it looks like rain  
There's a girl in a blue dress that wonders is this whole love in vain  
& I took from her things that no one should take  
& I broke every promise that I could break  
_"Where Do We Go From Down" – Will Hoge_  
_

* * *

**EDWARD**

I awoke with a supreme sense of dread and Bella knew it. As I watched her methodically fold laundry, hers and mine from the day prior, I caught her glances and the pinch of her lips. She knew and I knew, but neither one of us was saying a word. Slowly, I pushed myself from the wall that I was leaning against and settled my hands upon her hips. Her fingers stilled, a shirt half-folded, and she leaned her head back against my chest. I kissed her hair and felt the embers of something shifting around in my stomach, but I couldn't decide if it was passion or nausea until I moved a bare inch further against her and pinned her between my body and the dryer.

"Edward," she sighed, her hands leaving the shirt to ease up and cradle my cheeks as my mouth pressed lightly against her neck. She turned, her arms crossing as her hands held still, and she shook her head slowly from side to side. "This is only going to make you feel worse." I hung my head in defeat and she turned back to the laundry. I watched as she worked, her tiny fingers creasing fabric, and she mused, "There's a hole in your shirt."

"There's a hole in my heart," I replied automatically, thought gone. She huffed out a breath and her hands stilled; I kissed her shoulder and begged that she would offer to fill that broken, lonely hole with her hands and her heart, her mouth, her words. Her fingers laced together with mine against the edge of the dryer and the press of her thumb as it smoothed over mine felt like home. "This is worth it."

"I hope you still feel that way when it's done."

"She told me not to go, but—"

"You don't need to explain that you feel compelled; I know." With my clean shirt pinched between her teeth, she turned and began to remove the sweatshirt she'd lent me, an innocent hand in undressing. My arms moved to help her, rose to let the fabric pass, and as she eased the clean one onto my limbs, she pressed her mouth over my heart and I felt the hole seal just a bit. "I knew when you awoke," she said, tugging on the hem and then smoothing her hands over my chest. "I knew before you awoke, really, that you'd go." I opened my mouth to apologize because I felt like I needed to, but her lips stopped me before I could even begin to find the words. "Change your pants and go. I'll be here. Come back to me."

Bella closed the door behind me and I looked to the sky, the foreboding grey clouds seemingly mocking me. I watched them as I drove to the place that I once called home, but as the clouds shifted, that, too, had changed. In the driveway, I took in deep breaths that held no calming effect and watched as the sky opened up, sent fat drops of rain to clatter against the roof of my car; they streamed down the windshield like tears and I knew they wouldn't be the only ones I would see. If she didn't cry, I surely would.

Knocking felt wrong, but using my key seemed worse, so I fisted my hand and knocked twice, waited for Angela to answer the door as I stared at my feet. She opened it with a sigh, the hem of her dress fluttering from the bluster of the storm winds, and the dread in my bones felt like lead; I was stock-still, chained to the moment.

"I told you not to come," she said quietly and I was surprised at the disappearance of her solid anger from the night before. I nodded, swallowed against the lump in my throat, and my feet moved backwards minutely until I felt the splatter of rain against my back at the edge of the porch. "Oh, Jesus, Edward, just come inside."

We sat across from each other at the kitchen table, both of us completely silent with our eyes cast downward. This was the moment that would define us, no matter how many we had behind and between us, and I hadn't a single clue as to how to break her heart.

"You don't have to do this, Edward. I already know that you don't love me. We've covered that," she said abruptly, her hands moving erratically through her hair. I watched her curiously, waited for her to expand on her statement. She pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. "Do you really think I'm such a fool?"

"I've never—"

"Do you know why I suggested moving here?" she asked, her tone completely unreadable. I began to answer, but she held up a hand, cut me off. "It wasn't because it's a great place for Lily to grow up. Well, it is that, but it's so much more, too. I had a feeling this was coming, that we'd end, and I didn't want it to happen in Chicago. I didn't imagine that moving here would actually be the impetus for our demise."

"Angela, this wasn't planned."

"Whether it was or not, I had a feeling." She sucked on her lower lip and I watched her eyes fill with tears. Automatically, I reached for her glasses, to remove them before the tears collected on her lashes and left streaks against the glass, but her hand swatted me away. Through a soft, broken sob, she whispered, "Don't."

"Angela, I didn't want to—"

"You didn't want to, that's right," she said, her fingertips collecting her tears. "You didn't want to marry me, but you did. You did the right thing then and you have to do it now." I grabbed her hands and covered them with mine; they were soaked and shaking. "I just thought that if I loved you hard enough, if I gave you every last bit of my soul, that you'd be able to do the same, that you'd want to."

"I'm sorry," I told her, because there was nothing else I could say. "I'm sorry."

"I wish it was just that, Edward. I wish that were the only thing you had to be sorry for." I felt the tips of her fingernails dig against my palm and I pulled away. Her anger had returned and it boiled beneath her skin, showed in the narrow slant of her eyes and the vein in her neck. "You've been dishonest in more than your lack of loving me."

"I—"

"Where were you last night?"

"Emmett's; I told you that I—"

"Lily spent the day with my parents yesterday. I picked her up around three or so. She's there again, now." I quirked a brow and felt as if I was going mad, unable to discern a connection between topics. Angela frowned and stared directly at me, her head slowly shaking from side to side. "Bella's house in on the same street, Edward." My mouth closed and I bit the insides of my lips as my own tears had begun to fall. I sobbed openly, loud and messy histrionics, and felt like everything, the entire world had fallen upon me. "Crocodile tears, Edward, really?" She stood and placed her hands on the back of her chair, her stance intimidating and bold, and I wondered fleetingly how she found the strength. I looked down at my hands, at my inability to even curl my fingers, and let the tears drip to my palms. "Are you crying because you've been caught or because you feel badly about how you've handled yourself?"

"Angela—"

"It's truly disgusting." She began to pace, her bare feet angrily stomping on the kitchen tile, and I feared that I would pass out, the edges of my vision becoming hazy and unclear. "She was my friend, Edward. I went to her yesterday and talked to her about you, of all things, of all people, because I needed advice on how to handle myself in the arms of a man who doesn't love me. Little did I know that those arms had found her instead." The tears kept rolling from my eyes and her feet kept making thwacking sounds against the tile and none of it felt real. She stopped near me and forced my chin upward until my eyes met hers. I saw fire and destruction, pain, and I had never feared a woman more than I did in that moment. With my chin pinched between her fingers, she seethed, "You even smell like her; tobacco and sweet." Her fingers dug harder, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as her stare. "How could you?"

"I don't know—I—it was never my intention to—"

"Stop babbling. It's fine," she said, her tone bitter as she dropped her hand from my face. I fell upon the table, weak arms barely holding me up against the wood. I stared at her, waiting for the next blow to my heart, but she shrugged and leaned against the countertop, her stare vacant and her mouth a thin, emotionless line. "Like I said, Edward, I knew the end was near."

"We haven't—I've tried to—" I gulped against the lump in my throat, but my mouth was completely dry. "I didn't want to hurt you," I whispered.

"That's what you do, though, Edward. You hurt people." Angela began pacing again; her words weren't as loud, but they were sharper. "Look at me, for instance. All I did was love you, gave you a child, and look at where that's gotten me."

"Angela—"

"Just go, Edward. Just get the hell out of here and break her heart instead. Leave me what little pride I have left."

I wanted to fight her, wanted to hold her down and tell her how hard I tried, to remind her of the years that I spent trying to open my decaying heart to her, but one look at her told me that it wouldn't make a difference. I would forever be the man who broke her heart, stole her soul, and no words could replace those things. I stood slowly, my limbs feeling archaic and frail, and I shuffled out of the room. The door closed behind me with a soft click and I shook my head, somehow expecting something much louder to signal the end of such a thing. As I drudged through the rain to my car, thunder clattered overhead and drowned out my cries. I had my deafening ending. I had my finality. I had nothing at all.

* * *

I'm sorry to leave it here, but this is the last update you'll get until, at least, the 16th, as I'll be in or around Mexico until then, getting drunk & being sparkly with a bunch of Elvises & a couple of my favorite FF ladies.

Don't forget about the **Fandom Gives Back Author Auction**, which starts on the 15th.  
I'm auctioning off five 5,000+ word one-shots for $25.00 each. They are first come, first serve, one per person.  
You'll need to reply to my thread with proof of payment or something like that – I haven't a clue how it actually works – & the wonderful & lovely **AHelm** will be monitoring my thread for the first day or so & confirming your wins in my absence. Please leave me a general summary or something, like a sentence or two, if you're a winner, as I'll be checking from Mexico & want to know what I'm getting myself into.  
The link to my thread is below. Happy bidding.  
**thefandomgivesback[dot]proboards[dot]com/index[dot]cgi?board=fic&action=display&thread=29**

Have a great week, loves.


	16. Chapter 15: Do Not Fear

**Chapter Fifteen: Do Not Fear  


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**_Find it hard to look most people in the eye  
Trying to be that simple, subtle, sentimental kind of guy  
I make a good impression  
Save my constant coy confession  
Self-deprecation rarely tells a lie  
_"Melancholy Collar" – Tony Lucca_  
_

* * *

**BELLA**

As I observed Edward, I was torn as to what to do, how to handle myself and him, the words and actions that I should give and take. He was seated at my kitchen table; his head rested against his hands, fingers laced through the bronze strands, and tears were dripping down his cheeks, to his chin, and hitting the wooden surface in a slow, melancholy dance. He hadn't said much, only burst in through the front door as if my home were his own, and clawed at my hands, my neck in the kitchen until his strength had left him and he collapsed into a chair at the table. An hour of this and explanations did not come from him, only sobs and sporadic fragmented speech, and I felt completely helpless as I watched his display of hopelessness.

"Edward," I whispered, my hands pressing down upon his shoulders in an attempt to stem his shaking. His body wracked harder, vibrated beneath my fingertips, and I pulled him to me. I could feel the heat of his tears as they soaked through my shirt and hit my stomach, but all I could do was hold him and pray that they would stop. "It's okay. It's okay," I repeated, a quiet soundtrack of unsure reassurance, until he slumped against me and his breathing evened out. I stood against him, my arms cradling his head, until he came to nearly an hour later, at which point my legs had cramped and I, too, felt like sobbing. "Hey there, it's okay." He looked up at me, bewildered, and I bent to kiss his forehead. "It's okay. I've got you."

"Did I—"

"You fell asleep, or passed out; I'm not entirely certain which." I released him, feeling fragmented without his skin attached to mine, and sat in the chair beside his, my hands splayed on the table between us. "Do you want to talk about it?" I pressed quietly, knowing how tender his heart still felt, as I could see it in his reddened eyes. His stare was distant and his mouth did not move and I regretted asking him as I watched the tears well in his eyes again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't—"

"I've been chipping away at her heart for ages," he said quietly, his tone level, only in the way that it held constant sorrow. I reached across the table to hold his hands between mine, and he turned to look at me, his eyes empty and hollow of emotion, but so very red. "She has so much anger, so much hate, but she claims to love me. How can I be this horrible of a man? I feel nothing."

"If you feel nothing, then how can you cry?" My question was met with silence, as expected, and I ran my thumbs over the backs of his hands as his empty eyes met mine again. "Edward, you feel."

"I feel empty and undeserving," he said after a while, his gaze shifting to the floor. I looked to it, too, and tried to think of words that wouldn't sound swollen with an agenda, selfish or out of place. I came up empty, fell short, and he continued criticizing himself in my silence. "I'm so low, so very low. How can you want this?"

"I didn't want this," I reminded him, my voice level and honest. "I didn't want this situation to arise. I pushed, remember? I'm sorry that it's turned out this way, but I know it's worth it, Edward. I know it is."

"You did push, and I begged you to pull, and here we are." Edward tucked his lower lip into his mouth and it returned moments later, red from biting. I wanted to run my tongue across it and fist my hands into his hair and make us both believe it would be okay, that all of the pain would be worth it. Moving to do so, his hands did not stop me, and I straddled his lap, my hands finding his hair and twisting strands between my fingers. "Bella, I don't—"

"This is worth it," I told him firmly, because even after all of my pushing, I knew that it was, and I pressed my mouth against his and tried to mend his heart with my lips. He was rigid at first, still with that air of self-loathing, but as I worked against his mouth, he cracked and caved and pressed harder against me, his hands digging into my hips as he pulled me closer. "Tell me that you know it's worth it," I begged between lips and tongue, and he dipped his thumbs below the waistband of my jeans as he pulled me closer and moaned. "Tell me."

"It's worth it," he sighed, his lips moving from mine to find slivers of skin elsewhere. I panted against his temple, my moist breath echoing off of his skin, as he tugged the collar of my shirt to the side and sucked the skin there. "You're worth it."

"Mean it," I told him, ordered him, because his speech still sounded hollow, even if his touches were weighted with meaning, gripping for life and love. He reared back, his breathing choppy, and moved his hands from the skin of my sides to my cheeks, a firm hold. I tilted my head in his grasp and kissed the small bit of his thumb that I could reach, my eyes meeting his under the cover of thick lashes. "Do you want this?"

"More than anything." He pressed his thumb harder against my mouth, my lower lip, and I moved to drag skin upon skin. He watched my motions, my mouth, and I watched him, felt his body respond beneath mine. Opening my mouth to let my bottom teeth graze the ridges of his thumb, I took my feet off of the bottom rungs of the chair and let myself sink wholly onto his lap. A gasping groan pressed through his lips as his hands held me tightly against him and I smiled, unseen, into the crook of his neck. "Are we— You can't do this if— I can't stop," he sighed, his head dropping to lean upon my shoulder. I chose to answer him with lips and teeth upon his neck and the slightest swivel of my hips beneath his palms, and then he was frantic.

"I need you," he told me, and I believed him, as his fingers moved under my shirt and across my back. It was off, discarded onto the floor beside us, before I could even think to remove it myself, and his hands were setting blazes in trails across my skin, his mouth moving behind them to fuel the fire. "Please," he begged.

I laced my fingers behind his neck, the short hairs there tangling between my fingers, and pulled him further against me, our mouths moving to align. I whispered, "Yes," before his lips met mine, and then we were half-standing and half-bent to accommodate dragging hands, eager mouths, and clumsy feet that moved us towards the staircase. We made it as far as the third step before his hands curled around my waist and pulled me downward. "Here?" I asked, laughing as I rubbed my freshly rug-burned elbow.

"Does it matter?" he asked through his wet mouth, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of my jeans. I shook my head, my expression turning serious as I unfastened the button and fly, and he pulled them down to my ankles as he stood two steps lower. I leaned forward as I kicked off my jeans and watched as he pushed his pants down around his thighs, my hands brushing his out of the way. He gripped the banister with one hand and braced his other against the wall as I gripped him beneath his boxer shorts with one hand and used the other to push his clothing out of the way. He groaned and bent toward me, his hand making a stuttering sound against the wall with the shift of his weight, and I marveled at the length of him in the dim hall light. "Bella, your hand— Please—"

"Sorry," I whispered and knelt upon the step, my hand starting to move over his shaft. I glanced up at him, my mouth dangerously close to the tip of his cock, and watched as he screwed his eyes shut in anticipatory want. I worked him faster with my hand, twisting my wrist each time I neared the tip, and loved the way his shoulders would twitch and his breathing turned to pants with each glide. Testing, teasing, I flicked my tongue across the head and he cried out, a low guttural rumble that almost sounded like anger. "Can I?"

He answered by removing his hand from the wall and fisting it into my hair, pulling me closer to him, and I let myself be pulled, let the tip of his dick slide past my lips and bump into the back of my throat. I gagged immediately, unpracticed, and coughed around him, and his hand stilled, loosened. I looked up at him with tiny pricks of tears in my eyes and he looked concerned, but I started to move on him, gliding my lips and tongue over the length of his shaft, sucking harder at the tip, and he closed his eyes, succumbing to the bliss. I watched him as I worked, moaned around him at the sight of him, and he moaned with me, louder and longer and interspersed with curse words and my name, and after a short time, he grew louder and I sucked him more forcefully and then he was struggling to form words as he came against my tongue.

He collapsed against the stairs, his sweaty forehead resting against my bare, rug-burned knees, and I waited until he stopped gasping for air to move to sit beside him on the bottom step. He bent away from me, his head resting against the wall, and I mirrored his posture against the banister, ready to give him a minute, an hour to recover before we moved along. Then, I heard it, the soft, muffled sound of hidden tears, and I looked over to him, moved my hand to his knee to rest upon his half-removed jeans.

"It's not you, okay?" he whispered, his words spoken against the wall, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. I let him cry, not knowing what else to do, feeling utterly lost, and gripped his knee until he turned toward me minutes later. "I'm sorry. This isn't the kind of reaction you deserve." I shook my head and stared at my hand upon him, somehow feeling like I shouldn't be touching him, even though I'd had the most personal part of him within me moments before. I slowly inched my hand away from him, brought it back to my lap, and felt the slow trickle of tears begin to crawl down my cheeks. "Bella—"

"It's fine," I told him, a fabrication. "Don't—"

"No, it's not fine." He moved closer to me on the step, pinned me against the banister, and took my hands within his. "I'm so sorry." I shook my head and looked through the wooden slats over to my living room and tried to even out my breathing, mask what I'd been reduced to, just as he had. "Bella, look at me." I didn't, couldn't, but he forced me to with his hands on my cheeks and his unrelenting begging. "That was— That was one of the most intense things I've ever felt in my life."

"It was just a blow job," I snorted, half-laughing through my runny tears. "I'm really not _that_ good, Edward."

"It was one of the most intense things," he continued, ignoring my words. He pressed his lips to the backs of my hands and moved even closer somehow, his mouth moving to my neck. "Bella," he whispered, hot breath on sweaty skin, "I feel so broken, that's all, so very broken, but this is worth it, and I'm just having trouble sorting everything out."

"We don't have to rush this," I told him against his shoulder and I felt him nod against me. Smiling to myself, I reached up and palmed his cheek, rubbed my thumb across the scruffy hair that dotted the skin, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. "Edward, would you like to go on a date with me?"

"I'd love nothing more."

* * *

I apologize profusely for this taking an eternity, but, as I've told a lot of you, this story is near & dear to my heart & it just takes a while to find the right words & such.  
Leave reviews, if you'd like, but, really, I'm just glad you're here.  
I hope you're well, loves.


	17. Chapter 16: Echoes of Misery

**Chapter Sixteen: Echoes of Misery  


* * *

**_My weariness keeps growing inside  
My patience is starting to subside  
And I hope I'll be there soon  
It can't be long or I'll fall through  
_"Will I Ever Make it Home" – Ingram Hill

* * *

**EDWARD**

There is something to be said for a good night's worth of sleep, but I wouldn't know of such a thing. On the couch in Bella's living room, I watched the false light of street lamps play upon the ceiling as I recited the pages of _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie_ from the recesses of my mind and let loose tears over not having seen Lily for days. I sent the words echoing into the purple-grey light and kept them on a constant loop until a false slumber pulled me under, only to jar me awake with dreams of tiny hands and baby blankets, Cheerios and cartoons. I hadn't a home anymore, not really, but Lily was my heart and I missed her dearly.

Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I rolled onto my side and heaved a sigh, my eyes searching for the clock above to mantle to find that it proclaimed the very late – or very early, depending on how one looked at it – hour of five o'clock in the morning. I dragged my tired limbs from the sofa and stood upon heavy legs, my hands roaming over my torso until they settled over my equally heavy heart. Delirious and determined, depressed, I groped the end table for my keys and let my thumb slide over the familiar brass key that sat nestled between my car and office keys – the one to my former home, which Angela had not yet requested that I return. I pocketed them and scrawled a note for Bella before I left, still clad in borrowed pajamas.

In the driveway of Angela's home – the one that I could no longer refer to as mine, though it held all of my possessions – I stared up at Lily's window, at the soft pink glow of her nightlight behind her curtains, and I smiled to myself, my heart feeling lighter just because of her proximity. I couldn't let myself inside the house, even though I toyed with the idea, and I stared at the key as it dangled from the ignition before putting the car into reverse and driving off.

Bella was awake when I returned and she wordlessly handed me a cup of her mediocre coffee before scaling the stairs. I sat at the table and sipped at the boiling, bitter drink as I listened to the sounds of running water above me. It pounded the floor in a steady stream and thoughts of my daughter were replaced with presumptions of what Bella looked like with water trickling over her skin, and I felt dirty for it. I poured the coffee into the sink and dry heaved over the stainless steel, my hands clutching the edge of the countertop. So engrossed in my self-loathing, I hadn't heard the water cease, nor Bella return to the kitchen.

"You okay?" she asked, her hands rubbing at my back as my head hung over the sink. Startled, I flinched, before shaking my head and slouching down to rest my elbows on the countertop. "Still sick?"

"Not quite," I managed, my voice a croak. "Just misery." I took stock of her reaction as I glanced at her over my shoulder and I felt horrible as I watched her features contort into something between agony and shame. "I'm sorry," I told her plainly, because I was. "It's not you."

"You keep saying that." She sounded dejected and I wanted to apologize again, but she was right, I was saying it too often and I feared it would lose its meaning, if it hadn't already. She turned away from me, her hand still on my back between my shoulder blades, and I heard her scoff. "I don't expect this to be easy, you know," she said quietly and I turned my body to face her, her touch dropping off with my motion. I caught her hand and folded it between mine as she went to fold them across her chest and gave it a squeeze, my reply. "I don't think this will ever be easy."

"It's worth it, though," I told her, her own words revisited. She shook her wet hair out of the towel that was tied loosely around her head and sighed as she ran her free hand through it, and it seemed to me as if she was shutting down, shutting me out. I tugged her hand, pulled her until her warm, pinked, robe-covered skin was flush against me and I kissed her slowly, softly, until her mouth moved freely against mine. It was then that I pulled away, my knuckles resting below her chin, and whispered, "Worth the fight, right?"

"It's too early for conversations like these, Edward," Bella sighed, twisting out of my grasp. She untied and retied the string on her robe and poured herself a bowl of cereal, Cheerios, and I found myself gagging over the sink again. "Edward, really, are you okay?"

"I miss Lily," I confided, my words slow, and I heard the spoon in Bella's hand clatter to the counter. She moved to stand beside me – I could feel her there – and I continued to stare at the drain in the sink, the mug I'd placed beside it, as I spoke. "This is the longest I've ever gone without seeing her."

"Have you and Angela worked out—"

"We haven't talked about anything other than the fact that I'm no longer welcome in her life," I sighed, dejected. "I just really miss my kid, you know."

"I don't, but I can imagine," Bella replied softly, her hands on my back again. "Talk to Angela."

"I will." I stood upright and stretched until my spine popped, aligned, and turned to pull Bella against me. "After work, I'm going to go out to the lodge and get a room. I mean, as much as I'd love to stay here, I just think that Angela would be more receptive to me seeing Lily, if it weren't in the home of my _mistress_, as she'd see it." I knew Bella grimaced at the word, just as I did, and I kissed the top of her head to counteract the bitterness of it. "For the record, I don't see it that way, though."

"I understand," she said against my chest and I liked the way her lips felt as they moved above my t-shirt. I bent and captured her lips against my own, licked at them until she pulled away. "I have to get to work," she groaned, "but it's probably for the best." I nodded, knowing she was right and I was far too unstable at the moment to even try to attempt anything with her, as evidenced by the night prior. "Call me from the lodge tonight?" she asked, and I nodded my reply before she climbed the steps and I left.

The office was empty, dark when I arrived, as was the café across the street, and I was thankful for that, as I arrived in nothing more than pajamas and a coat. I let myself inside and made my way through the darkened halls to my office, to the closet there, where I kept spare clothing. Working with children, especially ill children, lent itself to all sorts of disasters and having a change of clothes on hand was always advisable, but I'd never anticipated using my spare pants for this occasion. Dressed in fresh apparel, I reclined in my desk chair, my feet propped upon the desk, atop files, and let myself find sleep, or some semblance of such, until Emmett's paw of a hand roused me awake at a quarter after ten.

"Did you sleep here? Shit. She throw you out?" There was no sidestepping with him and I knew it, so I simply nodded, too groggy to answer with words. "You could've crashed at my place again."

"I didn't sleep here, just napped." I righted myself in the chair and stretched my limbs outward until the creaks in them subsided. Emmett handed me his half-empty coffee cup and I guzzled it down before standing and handing it back to him. I peered out the window as I told him, "Bella let me stay on her couch."

"Bakery Bella?" he asked, moving to stand beside me at the window. She was outside, her fingers pinching a cigarette to her lips, and I smiled at the sight of her. "_That_ Bella?"

"Yes, _that_ Bella," I all but sighed, my eyes trained on her. Emmett let out a simple bark of a laugh beside me and I turned to him, my brow furrowed. "Why? What do you have against Bella?"

"Nothing, man. I just didn't know you two knew each other," Emmett replied, his hands up in mocking defeat. He kept the innocent look to his face for nearly a whole minute before a smile crept on his lips and his brows wiggled obnoxiously, and I found myself no longer interested in conversing with him. I turned to fetch a file from my desk, to feign interest in something else, but he pawed my shoulder and pulled me back. "So, just _how_ well do you know Bakery Bella?"

"My marriage just fell apart, Emmett. How well do you think I know her?" I sighed after a beat, owning up to the wrong that I didn't do. However, word would get out and people would talk and the least I could do was take the blame before it was handed to someone else, forced on Bella. "We're seeing each other."

"What?" he exclaimed, and I wasn't sure if it was shock, awe, or disgust. The raging smile that formed on his mouth confirmed that it was awe, and I felt bad for his wife, Rosalie, in that moment. "You work fast, bro. You've only been here, what, like a week?"

"More or less," I shrugged, checking my wristwatch. "Look, I've got a patient in a few minutes. Thanks for waking me up."

"Yeah, sure." Emmett ambled towards my doorway, before turning back around and grinning. "What do you say to beers tonight? Is it girly of me to say that I want all of the juicy details? Because, I do."

"There aren't details, Emmett, and I've got plans tonight, but thank you."

Emmett nodded and left without pressing the issue, surely thinking that my plans were with Bella. However, they weren't. My plans didn't include anyone, as of yet, and were more so plans to hatch a plan as to how to deal with Angela, how to see Lily. As terrible as it sounded in my head, Bella could wait, as family came first and always would, no matter how much it seemed I'd forgotten that as of late.

Sighing, I straightened the cuffs of my shirt as I watched her in the window, and pulled my phone from my pocket. It was nearly dead and I plugged it into the charger next to my desk as I texted Bella; _As much as I'd love to see you tonight, I hope you'll understand that I can't. –Edward._ She looked up at me then, a nod to her head as she typed her reply, and I waited for it with hitched breath.

_This is worth it. –Bella._

_

* * *

_Reviews are also worth it.  
Just sayin'.  
Wink, wink.  
Nudge, nudge.  
Even if FFn is fail & won't send me the alerts for them.


	18. Chapter 17: Only Words

**Chapter Seventeen: Only Words  


* * *

**_It was born in the wild  
It's river long, rock strong  
True and wild as hell  
Honey, now, my love for you is real  
_"My Love for You is Real" – Ryan Adams

**

* * *

  
BELLA**

The day was quiet, lonesome from his silence, but I was left with a lingering feeling of hope that settled into my limbs, for I was a wanted woman, one that was claimed and needed. Smiling to myself as I angled the pastry bag, I piped buttercream hearts for sweethearts around a tiered cake, one that would be used to tie two people together in wedded bliss, and I tried not to envision myself as a bride, on the arm of a man I barely even knew. But, there Edward was, in the horribly fast-working imagination of mine – the same breakneck pace of our relationship, in a dapper tuxedo with shiny lapels, and I could hear violins, maybe a distant harp, guiding me down the aisle, down to him. I chuckled to myself, at how ludicrous my thoughts had turned, and set down the pastry bag as I went in search of some reality, in search of Alice. In all honesty, I was in search of something to distract me from my insanity and the fact that Edward would soon be locked away with his real bride, the one that still, somehow, intimidated me and made me fear for my heart. Their wedding bells were real, but so was his touch, and, though I was assured, I was not confident enough not to fear.

"How's it coming?" she asked as I sidled up next to her at the register, my hands moving to thieve her cup of coffee. I downed it as I nodded, droplets of it slipping out of the space between the mug and the corners of my mouth, and she nodded back at me while she laughed. "Done or almost?"

"Done-ish. I just have a tiny, tiny bit of string work left on the top tier and then I'll be done," I told her as I looked around the café; nearly every table was empty, save for one, and I looked beyond them to note just how dark it had gotten outside. "When the hell did the sun go down?"

"You were back there all day, missy. We close in ten," Alice laughed, angling her thumb towards the clock on the register, and I let out a gasp, not realizing how caught up I'd been in fondant and fears. "I, honestly, thought you might have been avoiding me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, I haven't even heard from you since the day Edward came in looking for you. Thanks for that, by the way. It's been a blast running this place by myself. Then, you know, you came in and waltzed right into the back and started in on the cake. I barely even got a nod," Alice said the words with her eyes cast downward and I knew she wasn't trying to be confrontational, but I wished she would've been; I would have deserved it. Somehow, though, how hurt she seemed stung a lot worse than any confrontation could have. I smacked at my forehead and chewed my lip, feeling like a royal jerk for having absentmindedly ignored reality, my livelihood and the people in my life, and I grabbed her hands as I shook my head and bumbled for words that wouldn't come. "Yeah, I know," she said, her hands squeezing mine lightly. "It's okay. I kind of figured you were alive, at least, because your dad didn't come in, but a phone call would've been nice, you know?"

"I am _so_ sorry, and sorry is kind of the low end of what I am," I mumbled, my head bowed. Alice laughed and I looked up at her oddly, ready to grovel if that laugh was, in fact, one of amusement at my sorry attempt at being sorry. "What?"

"Don't even worry about it," she smiled and I let out a giant, huffing sigh of relief as I noticed the way her smile reached her eyes and seemed perfectly genuine; she was far too good to me. "I'm more upset that I have no idea what in the world has gone on over the past few days, than I am about having to run this place on my own."

"Well, if you must know—"

"Ladies, your chariot awaits, and, yes, I'm being presumptuous," Emmett's voice boomed as he entered the café, his top button undone and his usual professional coat swapped for a leather jacket. I looked over at him, nearly thankful for his larger than life persona and his interruption, as Alice giggled beside me and scampered across the tile to give his shoulder a shove. "What? What's that? I couldn't hear you. You missed me?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek and wrap heavy arms that crushed in the best of ways around her. He scooped her up and lifted until she squealed and batted at him. "I know, I've been away for far too long, but the new guy's been offering to make the trips 'cross the street. You've met him, I'm sure."

"And what brings you here now?" I asked with a brow raised and my arms folded across my chest, deflecting as best I could, for the glint in his eye looked a lot like knowledge. "Weeks, and not a word, not a letter? You haven't any room in that vast chest of yours for a heart?" I asked, feigning hurt, heartbreak. He sauntered up to the counter, his hands in his pockets and his lower lip starting a pout, and laughter spread through me quickly as he batted his eyelashes at me. Sighing dramatically, I uncrossed my arms and leaned across the counter to hug him. "It's been a bit, Em. How are you?"

"In need of beer," he sighed, leaning back to scratch at his ribs through his button-up. "Maybe some wings."

"So, to the tavern is where this fabled chariot will be taking us?"

"Unless you have other plans," Emmett started, his brows rising too high on his forehead for my liking, and I saw that the glint was definitely knowledge, and part of me didn't want to know how much he knew. I shook my head and toed the tile with my shoe, my eyes looking down, away from him. "Oh, Bakery Bell, how coy," he laughed, a finger of his darting across the expanse of the counter to poke into my side. I jumped and grabbed the nearest object, a cookie, and tossed it at him. "So, to the tavern? Don't make me beg."

"You two go on ahead," I complied, smiling softly at Alice. "I'll meet you there."

Emmett pawed his way across the counter once more, my cheeks pinched between his fingers, and they took off shortly after, a cacophony of energy and promises of fun – or, at least, distractions – to come. It had been too long and life had gotten too serious, my mind too clouded and full of pitches of dark fear, and beers with friends seemed like just the kind of thing that would do me good. Grinning to myself, I stored the cake for the night, a promise to finish it in the morning spoken to no one, and gathered my things, shut down the café for the evening. Jacket pulled tightly around me, I checked my phone as I locked the door, saddened to find nothing laying in wait for me on the screen, silence from Edward. Knowing what he was up against, how evil his demons were, I told myself that I had to understand, and tucked the phone away before walking the short two blocks to the tavern, with just a small pinch of empty fear in my throat.

I found them in the corner, a beer in Emmett's hand and two more on the table. I grabbed one as I leaned over to kiss his cheek, avoiding his pool cue as I moved, and he laughed loudly into the air around me, filled it with the static of comfort that had always followed him. Alice scooted over in the booth and patted the vinyl as I moved away from Emmett, as he moved away from us and toward the pool table, and I chugged down some beer as I sat. It was old comfort, warm and forgiving, and it felt like Edward had never pulled me into his undertow, that I had no fears. That fact made me, both, happy and sad, and I wanted to call him, call to him and have him reply, but I drank beer, instead, in heavy gulps and tried not to think of whether he was in a hotel room alone with his wife.

"So, you were saying," Alice treaded, getting right back to the point, the very one I was trying not to fret over. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, everything," I replied with a pinch to my lips, a flip of my hand. "Can we not?"

"Oh, so burying yourself in cake, work, was more of a drowning, then? Are you okay?" she asked, ever perceptible. I sighed loudly and pulled my phone from my pocket again and set it on the table between us. We both looked to the blank screen and I put it away again, another sigh going with it. "I don't do Charades."

"Let's just say that things are messy and I'm sure they're worth it, even if it really feels like all of this is way too complicated and hard for any worth to be placed upon the situation," I spat in one long exhale, before bringing my mug of beer to my lips and swallowing the rest of it. I set it on the table with a heavy thud and looked over at Alice, hair falling into my tired eyes. She brushed them away and cocked her head with a pout on her lips; understanding, though she couldn't possibly. "He's in a hotel room with Angela tonight – at least, he's supposed to be."

"Oh, Bell," she sighed, sliding her beer over to me. She laid a hand over mine and frowned as I wrapped my other hand around her beer and took a long sip. "They got back together?"

"No, they're very much not together, but he's supposed to be sorting things out with her tonight, if they even got together. I haven't heard from him since this morning. My mind is just overactive in the best and worst of ways today." I pulled my phone out once more, as I finished Alice's beer, and grinned sidelong as Emmett dropped off a round of shots. "Thanks, Em," I said, nodding before I threw back the shot and winced around the burn of the whiskey. "How'd you know it was a whiskey kind of night?"

"My mom tipped me off that they came into the lodge around seven," Emmett said simply, dropping his gaze to my phone on the table. "He told me earlier that you two—That he wasn't with her anymore."

"Ah, thus the knight in shining bomber jacket routine," Alice surmised with a smile. She moved her hand from mine to reach across and pat Emmett's, instead. She turned back to me as she sipped at her whiskey shot slowly and nodded while saying, "I'm sure you'll hear from him soon enough. How about you two play a round of Nine Ball to clear your head?"

Emmett and I took to the table, where over the course of many minutes and beers ticking by, I beat him into submission and a free bar tab. With rosy cheeks and unsteady legs, I made my way back to the table on Emmett's arm and sat in the booth with a heavy heart, as I felt my phone vibrate against my leg in the pocket of my jeans. Wide, glassy eyes stared at the screen, but the words didn't focus, didn't form, and Alice took the device from me as I grasped for it and ended up leaning on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I haven't called. Work devoured me and she's still here. I'm sorry," Alice read aloud and I frowned, wanting to be the one by his side, preferably on hotel sheets that Angela's body would not be wrapped in. I tried to get the phone back from Alice, but she pressed my hands away and Emmett held them. "Do you want me to write him back for you?"

"Tell him I love him," I said, instant and insistent, and I was so sure, so very sure of the words. The feeling of it barreled in my chest, ripped and roared its way through my body to my tongue, through the words, and they overpowered the fear. They became everything. Alice's head shook in slow motion before my glazed eyes and I pouted, fisted bits of Emmett's skin between my fingers. I released him shortly after, my hands groping my pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket, and I stood carefully, shouldered my purse, teetered as I held the back of the booth for support. "Fine, then I will."

Emmett followed me, but he wasn't fast enough, the crowd getting between us, and I dug quarters from the bottom of my purse and fed them into the payphone at the back of the bar as I dialed his number. Ringing scratched across the line as Emmett reached me and then Edward's voice was there, a gruff, "Hello—" in my ear, and before he could get out any other words, before Emmett could steal the receiver from me, I threw the words across the line, as many of them as I could – "I love—". All I heard was a distant gasp, a stutter, then Emmett slammed the receiver down, a note of stern disapproval crossing his features.

"You're going to regret that in the morning," he sighed, pulling me against him. "Let's get you some water, huh?"

* * *

In Bloom: In which Edward cries too much & Bella is an idiot.  
But, hey, that's how people are sometimes.  
What's your massive character flaw?  
Or, if that's too personal, what's your drink of choice when you're feeling blue?

PS: Trust me.


	19. Chapter 18: Nothing Short of Thankful

**Chapter Eighteen: Nothing Short of Thankful  


* * *

**_Shame, boatloads of shame  
Day after day, more of the same  
Blame, please lift it off  
Please take it off, please make it stop  
_"Shame" – The Avett Brothers

**

* * *

EDWARD**

The air was stagnant, suffocating, in the hotel room, or maybe, it was the silence; I couldn't tell. Whatever it was, I was choking on breaths and stuttering half-thought words, making false starts at conversation, as I undid the top button of my shirt and Angela stared at me with impatient-seeming eyes and a frowning mouth. When she met me in the lobby of the lodge, I'd had all of my words planned, the tactic in which I'd appeal to her to be able to see my child, but when we entered the room, locked the door behind us, it had all fled from my mind. I paced the length of the bed once, twice, before sitting down at the end of it, as I rolled up my sleeves and turned to her, her long, familiar frame seated a yard away at the wooden writing desk. In that moment, under the harsh overhead light, I saw just how red the rims of her eyes were, how flaked the skin was around her nose – she'd been crying for days, it seemed – and I felt my heart pang as my mouth opened again, closed again, before I looked down at my hands.

"Why am I here, Edward?" she sighed, cutting right to the point after she'd, apparently, waited too long for me to tell her. It was favorable, her direct manner, because I simply did not know where to begin. She sighed and fisted the ends of her hair between her fingers, tugged as she bent her head forward to keep me from looking at her. "This is messy enough, and I don't particularly want to be here," she said softly, her words simple sighs, "but, I know we can't have a clean break."

"We can't," I echoed, feeling the words scratch along my throat before they tumbled from my lips. She bent back in the chair, her face revealed again, and I wanted to cup it in my hands, run my thumbs across the tears that started to slip because I knew the damage displayed there was my doing. No matter what I'd done, or where my heart had led me, Angela was the mother of my child, a huge reason for my existence, and I would always care for her in some manner; though, I knew that manner could not be through touch, as that would only be betraying her further. I fisted my hands into the sheets beside me and swallowed hard, brought myself to look at her – not as the mother of my child, but as the keeper of her – and my fingers no longer ached for tears. "We need to make some decisions about Lily." The words were hard, sounded like a business transaction in some way, and the hurt that welled in my chest was unfathomable. Just saying her name aloud, to Angela, was enough to make me feel unparalleled guilt for what I'd done. I held back the tears, determined to be strong, as I told her, "I miss her like mad."

"You should've considered that—"

"No," I said sternly, cutting her off. "My indiscretions have nothing to do with my child."

"Our child," she spat, standing and crossing the room. She stood in the corner by the closet, a few feet from me, her finger pointed at me like a gun she probably wished she could shoot, and I could hear how badly she was seething in the way her breathing picked up, like she was ready for a fight. "Our child, Edward. Ours. Not yours. Not yours and Bella Swan's. _Ours_. And you should have considered that when you decided to take this _we _that we've built over time and rip it to shreds in the arms of that—"

"That what? Say it," I dared, getting to my feet. Angela held her ground as I approached her and I never remembered her being so strong, so defiant, but, then, I'd never seen her have to be. "Call her a whore, if that makes you feel better. If it makes you feel like it'll fix anything." The set of her jaw, the way it looked locked shut, I knew that she wouldn't spit the word, and when her finger dropped, I was certain that the fight was fought, done. She sunk down against the closet door behind her and started sobbing into her knees. I waited, watched, and considered leaving her there, as she had done to me on the floor of our kitchen the night she told me she knew I didn't love her; but, instead, I crouched before her and set my hands on either side of her feet, gripping them through the canvas of her sneakers. "This doesn't have to be messy, Angie," I told her softly, my head hung between us. "You were a huge part of my life for so long."

"A lot of good that's done me," she scoffed, tears mixing with her words upon her lips. "This has to be messy, Edward. It has to, because I'm a mess. You've destroyed me."

"It was never my intention to hurt you like this," I told her sincerely, my head shaking from side to side as I spoke softly to her. "I didn't know it would be like this."

"I did; that's the funny thing," she sighed, straightening up. She moved to wipe her tears with her hand, right her glasses on her nose, and shook her head at me as she smiled oddly. I found myself frowning back at her, unable to mirror her smile. "How else can things end with a man who you know doesn't love you?"

"I—"

"That was rhetorical." I stared at her, lost for words that wouldn't sound like hollow apologies. Angela shifted against the closet door and reached for me, pulled my arm until I swiveled and sat beside her. When my head brushed back against the thin metal door, cold against my scalp, I felt her lightly lay her head upon my shoulder, and I closed my eyes as I sighed heavily, my entire body feeling weighted with guilt and shame for having wronged such a simple and kind woman. "I knew we wouldn't be forever, but I was kind of banking on for a while, you know?"

"It was never right, Ang, never," I admitted, after some time. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be the man that you needed."

"You were, though. For so long, you were," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, and she moved her head from my shoulder to look at me. For a moment, she bit her lip, and I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but before I could, she asked me, "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why now?" she asked quietly. "Why now and not all those years ago?"

"I met Bella," I told her candidly and I didn't feel sorry for the words. The way she was looking it me, it was like she was glutton for punishment, for pain, for answers, like she wanted more words that would hurt her, and I felt compelled to give her that, to give her what she wanted, because, honestly, it felt kind of good to be able to talk to her about it. "I thought everything was so right with us, you and me, until I did. I can't even explain it, wholly, but it was like there was this whole other part of me that was missing, or something, and I just didn't know it until I met her."

"She's a really great person," Angela whispered after a moment. "Well, she was."

"She still is, Ang."

"I'll have to take your word for it," she said, getting to her feet. "It's going to be a while before I can have any sort of civil conversation with Bella Swan." Angela crossed to the bathroom with tired looking steps and said, "I'll just be a minute, then we can talk about Lil," before closing the bathroom door.

I settled back on the bed, my head propped up against the pillows, and pulled my phone from my pocket, regretful that I hadn't had time to contact Bella all evening. I sent her a quick text message while I waited for Angela and pocketed my phone before she emerged; feeling like even texting Bella in her presence was wrong, somehow.

"Okay, that's better," Angela said, returning to the room with a wet face and a washcloth in her hand. She nudged the side of her glasses until they moved to the right spot on her nose, and she sat at the foot of the bed, where she toyed with the towel in her hands and would not look at me. I sat up and scooted down the bed to her, near enough that our knees almost touched, and she, finally, looked over at me, fresh tears in her eyes. "I love you, Edward, and I hope you know that I always will, but I don't like you right now. I don't like you at all," she said, unsteady breaths and chattering teeth. I moved closer, still, and took one of her hands in mine, nodding my understanding. I could not blame her for disliking me, when I, too, had a hard time dealing with myself and the kind of man I had become. She chewed her lower lip and rolled her eyes as more tears fell and I waited for more words, because I didn't have any of my own. With a whimper, she continued, "And it's hard, you know, to want to let you see Lil because I love you and you love her and she, well, we all know she loves you, but to be so mad at you that I want to hurt you, and I know keeping her from you will hurt you. And I don't want to be a bad person, just because you've been."

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I opened my mouth to speak – to tell her that civility was more than I deserved, but all that I prayed for – and I had to turn away to answer it. "I'm the doctor on call tonight," I explained, fishing the device from my pocket to see a number that I did not recognize, and she nodded as I stood and stalked over to my briefcase by the door. "Hello?"

"I love—" was all I heard across the tinny connection, surrounded by thumping bass and undecipherable chatter, and I shook my head as I sighed at the cacophony in my ear. The phone disconnected and I stared at it oddly for a moment before shaking my head again. "Wrong number, I suppose," I shrugged, disconnecting my end of the call as I turned back to her. "Where were we?"

"I was telling you that I'm not going to keep you from seeing Lily." I rushed to her and my arms moved to stretch around her and pull her to me, elated, but her hands on my chest stopped me. "Don't act like this is something to celebrate, Edward," she whispered, looking up at me. She moved away, to the desk to gather her things, her head shaking from side to side as she went, and I hung my head as I watched her. "That makes me feel like you thought I'd be the type of person to withhold your own child from you," she continued, her whisper turning to a scold, and I felt a deep frown etch itself across my mouth as she spoke, "like you've won some sort of battle, here."

"That's not—I just—Thank you, Ang."

"Don't thank me," she said, rising. "Just be good to our child." I nodded, my mouth agape, and rose to walk her to the door. She turned before she reached it and cocked her head to the side, her eyes looking heavy and tired as the lids drooped down, and I nodded with a small, broken smile on my lips. "I'm kind of glad that we did this."

"Me, too," I told her, nodding again.

"It's nice to know that you didn't just leave me for the sake of leaving me, I guess," Angela offered quietly, her eyes cast down to the floor. She reached across the distance between us and grabbed my hands, held them within hers and rubbed her thumbs along my knuckles. It felt warm and familiar, a promise that we weren't as broken as I'd thought, and when I looked to her face, to her watery eyes and half-hearted smile there, some of the guilt slipped from my body. "Come by around nine on Saturday morning and I'll have Lily waiting for you."

"Thank you so much," I said, my voice cracking a little bit around the words, emotion welling in my throat. "So much."

Angela let go of my hands and thumbed the lock on the door. When it swung open, she palmed it and turned to me and I waited, my heart in my throat, as she licked her lips to speak. She closed her mouth again and shook her head, her hair falling into her face as she turned away from me. I grabbed the door as she walked into the hall, my hands pressing it closed behind her without so much as a goodbye or a goodnight said between us, but before it got to the jam, before the latch clicked, she stuck her palm into the open space.

"Bella's favorite flowers are tulips," she said meekly, quietly, her face unseen behind the heavy oak. Her hand moved from the space and the door swung closed, a loud, sudden thud. I stood on the other side of it alone, and listened to the muffled "Goodnight," in the hall, and my life felt a little less broken than it did before.

* * *

AngstyWeepward McCriesTooMuch didn't shed a single tear this chapter.  
I think that's grounds for a celebration.  
Or, you know, at least a pat on the back.  
*Pats self on back*

So, uh, what's your favorite flower?


	20. Chapter 19: Where Your Head Is

**Chapter Nineteen: Where Your Head Is  
**

**

* * *

**

_I would rather lose it all then watch you walking hand in hand  
with some other girl, she's stealing my fate  
but I can't make you dream of me  
I can't make you dream of me  
_"What Is The Difference" – Aslyn

**

* * *

**

**BELLA**

The sun was a beast, and it poured through my thinly tinted sunglasses like tidal waves, beating relentlessly into my retinas and making my stomach turn. I squinted against the glare of it, my temples throbbing, and staggered fully out the front door of my house, trying to remember how I'd even come to be there. A vision of Emmett, my face pressing into the soft leather of his jacket as he carried me spliced through the pain in my head, and I grimaced as my feet crushed against errant foliage and caused me to lose my footing. My grip on the doorknob saved me as I stumbled, pulling the door closed with a painful thud, and I leaned back against the wood, sighing heavily as I cursed my apparent inability to sweep my porch and what I would previously refer to as the _wonders_ of alcohol. They weren't so wonderful in the blistering light of day, and what a long day it seemed it would be.

I took my time getting to my car, moving in unavoidable slow motion, and I cradled my forehead in my palm as I rested in the driver's seat, fatigued from the mere ten feet of motion. The thought of reaching up to turn the key in the ignition was tiring enough, and I couldn't fathom doing it. Figuring out how my truck had made it back to my driveway was equally exhausting, so I tried not to think of it. Pulling out my cell phone and calling Alice, though, _that_ was bearable, and I did, albeit rather slowly. She didn't answer, and I left her a message, telling her I'd be late in a voice that barely sounded like mine, and then I took my time, setting my limbs into motion, trying not to vomit with each jerk of the tires, each noise of the road.

The café smelled like it always did, like flour and sugar and melted butter, but the sweet aroma hit my liquor-coated stomach in the worst of ways, and it made me gag as I entered through the back door. Alice, forever a godsend, was on standby, a cup of coffee and aspirin in her hands, which she readily extended to me as I stalked across the shop to her. I put the pills on my tongue and took a small sip, wincing as I felt it make its way down to my stomach, and Alice reached over with a pout on her mouth to pat at my shoulder.

"You were black-out-drunk last night."

"I know," I groaned, my lips hovering near the rim of the mug. "I was there."

"How much of it do you remember?"

To be honest, I remembered nearly all of my _finer_ moments of the evening last, save for the trip home, and I pinched my eyes shut as I wished them away, wished that the drunken version of myself weren't so mind-numbingly stupid. And, I thought of Edward, how I hadn't heard from him after my drunken proclamation of love or something like it, and then I internally berated myself for that, as well. When I opened my eyes, eager to escape the flooding flashbacks of whiskey past, Alice's pout had become one of epic proportions and I couldn't bear to see her pity me, either. Instead, I took another sip of coffee and raked a hand through my hair as I turned to the walk-in refrigerator. She let me be, left me to my cake and my sorrow, and it was the only part of the morning that I found myself thankful for.

By the afternoon, after I'd stumbled my way through two cake orders that looked only mildly off-kilter and downed three cups of black coffee, my hangover had mostly subsided, but the sorrow remained. As I worked, I'd let my phone lie beside my workspace, and it sat there, completely dormant, all the while. He didn't call, didn't text, didn't send a carrier pigeon, and the sickness in my gut shifted from alcohol-ill to one of worry. I stared at it as I tapped a cookie cutter along the edge of the stainless steel surface, willed it to ring, beep, talk, anything, but it didn't, and I couldn't take the tension any longer. I grabbed it off the table and stalked out the back door, lighting a cigarette as I went.

I smoked half of the cigarette before I made it around to the front of the building, and as I stared across the street at his window, I glanced down at my phone and contemplated calling him. My hesitation was warranted, given the last time I'd dialed his number, and I finished the rest of my smoke and lit another before I mustered up the courage to even scroll to his name – still _Friendward_ – in my contacts. Without giving myself time to worry, think, or regret, I connected the call and tapped my foot wildly against the ground as I waited for him to answer.

"You've reached the voicemail of Edward Masen. I'm not available to—"

I watched him ignore my call as he stood with his back to his office window. If it going straight to voicemail after one ring wasn't a dead giveaway, seeing him thumb a button and then pocket the phone certainly was, and I was heavily disappointed. I tried him again, with absolutely no hesitation before I dialed, and when I got his voicemail for the second time, I waited through it, and then promptly hung up right before the beep. I didn't know what to say, but if I did find the words – the ones that sounded like I was worried that I'd scared him off, that I was so terribly afraid that he and Angela had reconciled – I wanted to say them to his face, or I thought I did. And then, Angela came into view, just a sliver of her in the corner of the window, and the nausea hit me so hard that I staggered back against the building.

"Fuck," I mumbled, because coherent thought wasn't exactly on my side, and I slumped down against the brick, barely even feeling the sandpaper surface of it against my back as my shirt rolled up from the motion. From my new vantage point, I could barely see them, and I strained my neck to make sure the tops of their heads were still far enough apart for me to feel safe. But, I didn't feel safe in the slightest; I felt sick. Had my lunacy really driven him back into the arms of his wife? And, who had I become that such a thing – a man being with the woman he'd committed to have and to hold, actually having and holding her – was so sickening to me? Before I could stop myself, I was weeping and my cigarette was burning through the filter, and I struggled to scrape myself off the pavement before I could be seen.

It was too late, though. Just as I got to my feet, my hands feeling raw and frigid from palming the pavement as I stood, Angela emerged from the door of the office. When our eyes met, the feeling was worse than any hangover in history, and when she smiled, I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. She smiled, and just like that, I was so sure of it, of them; what other reason would she have? I smiled back as politely as my quivering, crying mouth would allow before breaking our stare and hurrying through the front door of the café.

"Hey, can you make another batch of—" Alice's words were background din as I walked past her, through the door to the kitchen, and out the other door into the alley. She was quick to follow, though, as it was the time of day where business halted just before the lunch rush, and she caught me before I could collapse against the side of my truck. "Whoa, what's going on? Bell, hey, what is it?"

"She smiled at me," I told her through sputtering, shaking breaths. "She smiled."

"That's not usually a cause to cry, you know." I wanted to stop and correct her, but my teeth were chattering too hard, matching the intensity of my tears, and I couldn't, so she continued. "Smiles are commonly accepted as kind gestures."

"Angela, Alice; Angela is across the street and she _smiled_ at me."

Alice didn't say anything after that, and neither did I. She just wrapped her arms around me and sat us in the flatbed of my truck, and she stroked my matted, greasy hangover-hair, until my tears subsided and the lunch crowd started pulling up along the street. I nodded and she left, and I rubbed my fingertips beneath my eyes to scrape away the crusty makeup that lingered there before returning to my work in the kitchen. I mixed and I folded and I baked and I iced, but the disappointment lingered, the heartbreak remained, and, still, he didn't call. The hangover was the least of my worries, then.

The rest of the day passed, but I felt like I was just going through the motions – smile, customer, smile, repeat – and when the time came for us to close down, Alice hugged me tight and told me to go on home. I wanted to make a quip about how I was the boss, but I didn't have it in me to feign any more smiles. Instead, I hugged her back and grabbed a box of cookies out of the cold case to drown my sorrows in, and I made sure to leave through the back door so that I wouldn't have to worry about whether I'd see him or not, see her or not. It was pointless, though, because the second I was in the driver's seat of my truck, with the heavy silence of the alley surrounding me, all I could think about was Edward. I cranked the radio as loud as it could go to drown out my thoughts, and the pounding in my head rivaled the pounding headache of my hangover, but I didn't mind.

When I reached my driveway, my long-awaited destination, and cut the engine, I heard my phone ring over the ringing in my ears, and as I pulled it from my pocket, I felt my skin pucker from a chill of nerves. But, of course, it wasn't him, and I frowned as I accepted Emmett's call and gathered my things.

"Hey, Em," I said into the phone, twisting out of my seatbelt. "What's up?"

"Just calling to check in on you. You know, because my giant chest holds a giant heart that cares about you and your heart," he chuckled into the line. I cracked a small smile at his words, at his warmth, and made my way to my front door. I set everything down on the porch swing as he continued to laugh, and lit a cigarette. "So, how are you?"

"Glum, and I had a bitch of a hangover this morning. If your giant chest cares so much for me why did you let me drink such giant amounts of alcohol?"

"My giant _heart_ cares, not my chest, and it was your giant sadness that convinced it to let you." I laughed and shook my head, watched as the smoke curled upward into the space around me. "But, hey, the flowers had to make up for the massive hangover, right?"

"Flowers?" It was then that I saw them, the _errant foliage_ that I thought I needed to sweep off my porch and tripped over that morning. They were no such things, but, instead, a bouquet of tulips wrapped in plain brown paper, a purple bow around the outside, and I'd broken their stems. Emmett babbled into the line, but I couldn't hear him as I set it down on the banister to scoop up the flowers. They weren't from Emmett, as I'd sort of thought, but from Edward; _I'll be busy most of the day, so I apologize in advance for the silence. Please come see me at the lodge tonight. I'll be there around 8:00. Room 305._ I gawked at the card attached to the bow, read it again, checked my watch to see it was nearly eight o'clock already, and then fumbled for the phone. "Em, shit. I have to call you back."

"Everything okay?"

"Just—I'll call you later."

I sprinted to my truck, cookies abandoned on my porch, and hauled over to the lodge as quickly as I could, running more than one stop sign along the way. When the cozy façade of the decades-old brick building came into view, I felt my heart drumming hard in my chest, my throat, and I couldn't tell if I wanted to smile wildly at the impending sight of him or steel myself for bad news to come. My head was spinning, going over every possible scenario that I could encounter behind the door of room 305, and as I entered the building and, thankfully, bypassed Emmett's mother, Doris, I felt it throb in time with my heart. It wasn't until I was standing face-to-face with his hotel room door that it all fell into place. My heart slowed and my head leveled out and I realized that, drunk or not, I _did_ love him, and whatever came about on the other side of that threshold, my heart was his to break.

* * *

I really feel like a complete douche for making you wait so long for updates.  
It's just, as I've said, this story is intensely personal for me. Which, you know, is great in some aspects, but, well, in other ways – like when everything relating to this in real life falls apart – it's not so great. &, yeah, it all massively fell the fuck apart recently, & getting back into this has been brutal.  
It hurts to write, so I've been avoiding it, but I think I've reached the point where it's almost therapeutic to do this, now, so expect updates to return to normal.  
Thank you for sticking with me, if you have, &, again, I'm really sorry for the wait.

PS: I promise that no one will cry in the next chapter. I probably should've called this "In Tears."

PPS: Doris is a blatant rip-off of bananapancakes7's Doris in "The Woods are Lovely, Dark, & Deep," but let's just say I'm paying homage to the only OC in TwiFic that I love. Thanks for letting me borrow her, ficwifey. I would say I crab you, but FFn would delete the crab.

Tell me about your worst hangover?  
Mine involved drinking so much at a Marc Broussard concert that I tipped my bartender $100 by accident, blacked out in some bushes, & then even blinking hurt the next day.


	21. Chapter 20: Deep, Deep Breath

**Chapter Twenty: Deep, Deep Breath**

**

* * *

**

_Baby, we've come a long way, baby.  
You know, I hope and I pray that you believe me  
when I say this love will never fade away.  
_"You Are the Best Thing" – Ray LaMontagne

* * *

**EDWARD**

I shouldn't have eaten dinner; my stomach wouldn't stop turning itself into knots. I knew it wasn't the food, though – the sandwich was too bland to be any trouble. It was the nerves – the raw, frayed edges, dipped in acidic anxiety, which caused my gut to tumble over itself and ache. I wrung my hands and splashed water on my face, let my open mouth hover over the sink a moment, just in case, then took a long look at myself in the mirror. It was the face of a fool, and I frowned at it. She had told me herself that it was worth it, those had been her parting words, but I felt as if I was sinking. I had gotten what I wanted, became unattached and available to be with her, and for some reason, I looked like this, felt frail and uneasy. And I knew better, I knew that she would still want me, that it wasn't about the chase, but I couldn't help but think of it. She hadn't replied to my text message. But she did call during the day. She didn't leave a message – either time. I was so torn. I was driving myself mad.

Knuckles rapped on the door, striking me out of my daze, my thoughts, and I checked my wristwatch. It was ten after eight and those had to be Bella's knuckles. I wanted to kiss them, kiss her, have her kiss me back and assure me once more that this was real, worth it, that she still wanted me. I wanted her to pull me toward her, untie the knot in my stomach with her fingers in my hair, mine on her hips. Quickly, I crossed the room and pulled open the door.

The look on her face didn't set me at ease. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks red, and her lip was nipped between her teeth. I huffed out a breath and steadied myself with a hand to the doorframe, looked down at the floor because, God, it hurt. It hurt to look at her, to feel what I felt, to be so certain that I never had anything to be certain of at all.

"You're not happy to see me." It was a statement, not a question, and I didn't mean for it to sound so pitiful. But, I did; I pitied myself. "I understand that—"

"What? No—Edward, of course, I am." She sighed and I sighed, and none of any of it was right. "Can I—do you want me to come in?"

"If you want to come in, come in." I moved aside and she stepped in, I put my hand on the door to close it, and once it was shut, I left it there; I might have been trying to subconsciously keep her with me. I watched as she moved across the room, her eyes on her feet, until she sat on the bed and stared directly at me. I couldn't take those eyes, the heavy pity within them, and I closed mine, and said, "Just—just say it."

"Say it?" I cracked open one eye and noted to quirk to her brow, the cock of her head. She chewed her lips again for a moment and softly said, "From the look of you, I think I've said too much already." At her words, I opened both of my eyes and looked at her full on; she looked as sullen as I had in the mirror's reflection. "Do you—do you want me to go?"

"No—_God, no_. I missed you," I sighed out, my voice wavering with emotion. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you want me here," Bella echoed quietly.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I just—I'm glad you want me here, you know, after what I did." I was utterly lost, and the frown on her mouth didn't help. I stared blankly at her, aching for words less cryptic, and she looked away, her cheeks flaring. I moved closer to her, knelt before her and kissed her knee. Her hand moved to my hair, and she said, "When I called you—I mean, I know it's _really_ soon and I was really drunk. Can we just—can we forget that it even happened?" I tried to piece together her words, but it wasn't making much sense. She continued to babble, ramble, and I stared at her, hoping her mouth would pause, collect itself, then tell me what she was trying to say. Then, she did. "I mean, I do—I mean what I said, but I—yeah, I love you. There, I said it."

The knots unraveled. I couldn't touch her, kiss her, taste her fast enough. My hand on her hand in my hair, my other on her waist, and I covered her body with mine, both of us tumbling over onto the bed. She pulled me, then, pulled me against her, to her, willing and wanting, and her hands moved to my neck to crush my lips against hers. I kissed her without reservation, without politeness or softness, and she returned, in kind, her teeth digging into my lips, her tongue pressing roughly against mine.

"You love me?" I marveled quietly against her tongue, and she nodded as she took my lips once again. I smiled against her mouth, smiled so hard, so wide that I couldn't kiss her back. She pulled away and I stared down at her. I felt even more foolish then, for feeling so foolish before, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Thank God."

"Thank God?"

"I maybe, sort of had a panic attack of sorts before you got here," I rambled quickly, and her brow creased with worry. I closed my eyes and continued, "I thought—I was over-thinking things and somehow worked myself up into a worry that you wouldn't want me anymore or something and I'm just—"

"—crazy," she cut in and craned her neck to capture my lips, effectively stilling them. "You're crazy."

"In hindsight, yeah, probably." I laughed a little, but it was almost humorless. Though it had subsided, I could recall the dense feeling of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I rolled off her and lay on my back beside her, my hands lightly across my middle. She immediately curled onto her side, laced her fingers with mine, and kissed my throat. Easily, I smiled at the feel of her. "It's all so stupid now, but there was that, and the way you looked when you got here. I thought we were doomed. So, yeah, thank God."

"I looked like that because I had a miserable day," Bella said softly against my neck, her lips lightly pressing against the skin there.

I shifted onto my side, kissed her and stroked her hair. I'd been so wrapped up in myself, in the thought of losing her, that it hadn't occurred to me her red-rimmed eyes could've been attributed to something unrelated.

"What happened?"

"It's all so stupid now," she smiled, giving my words back to me. "I just—I had a pretty miserable hangover and, you know, I kind of told you, drunkenly, last night that I loved you and—"

"Oh, good Christ," I murmured, all of it flooding back to me – the background noise, the mumbled, tinny words that I hadn't quite understood across the line. "That was _you_."

"That's what I was trying to tell you, jerk." Bella gave my shoulder a shove and as I fell onto my back once more, I grabbed her and pulled her atop me. "I drunk dialed you from the payphone at the bar, and then it was all kinds of a blur." I played with the ends of her hair as she perched above me, staring at the headboard instead of at me. I could see the creep of color in her cheek again. I pulled one of her hands from where it was placed on my chest and kissed her fingers, did my best to try to set her at ease. "Then, you didn't call me back, or text me back. And I called you, but you didn't answer. Then, I saw Angela leave your office. I thought you might have hated me or got back with her, because she smiled at me. I didn't even see the flowers until, like, a minute before eight. Then, I got here and was so set on telling you again that I loved you, set on fighting for you. But you looked like you looked and I was so nervous. Pretty much just loads of ridiculous miscommunication, or lack thereof, all around."

"The connection was pretty terrible and I could barely hear over the music coming through the line." She looked down at me then, and I wrapped her hair around my hand to tug her to me. I kissed her softly, then said, "I would've said it back, otherwise."

"It's a good thing you didn't." She laughed out the words, otherwise I was certain they would've caused me to spiral back into pity, and kissed me again. "I wouldn't have remembered, probably."

"Oh."

"You can say it now, though. I mean—if you're ready, you can. If you want to or—" She kissed me again then, her tongue forcing its way into my mouth, and I knew it was to stop herself from talking. When I pulled away, she whimpered. I loved the sound, the little exhibit of wanting. "Never mind. I don't want to pressure you. You say it when you're ready to, if you ever do feel ready to, or—"

"Bella," I said quietly, swiping my tongue against her lower lip at the l's in her name. She stared at me, wide-eyed and mouth stilled. I pressed my mouth to hers, our eyes still locked. "I love you," I told her. "I really do."

"We—we barely know each other," Bella answered back, and it wasn't at all what I expected to hear. She had sounded like she wanted me to say the words, but once I'd done so, it was almost as if she didn't want me to, after all. I shook my head and let out a sigh. "This is all so fast," she offered with a kiss to my cheek. "But, I'm happy you feel the same."

"Does time matter?" I replied, my hands rubbing across her back. "When you feel it, you feel it."

"We never even had our date," Bella noted glumly.

"We can do that right now, if that'll make you feel better," I smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner."

"We are so backwards," she laughed, standing above me on the bed. "We've done all of this wrong."

"Wrong, right—it's all subjective." I stood too, my head nearly touching the ceiling, and pulled her against me. "We made it here, and that's all that matters."

"I love you," Bella said against my chest, the words soft and sweet. "So much."

"I love you, too," I replied, so sure of the words, so proud to say them. "Now, let's go have that date."

* * *

I'm done making promises about updates, because, clearly, I can't keep them.  
I'm sorry as all hell about that, but there wasn't much I could do.  
You can only cry so much over something, you know?  
If you want to stay, I'd be so happy to have you.  
If you want to quit this, I more than understand.  
Either way, thanks for reading.


End file.
